


Light of Day

by SmoshArrowverseFan, SventheCrusader



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: AU, Gen, Season 2 (and onward) Rewrite, also no Kenny does not feature in this story, relationships will happen will remain a mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmoshArrowverseFan/pseuds/SmoshArrowverseFan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SventheCrusader/pseuds/SventheCrusader
Summary: Two years after the beginning of the end, the last remnants of humanity have only just begun to pick up the pieces of a shattered world. In the company of a new group and in the shadow of new enemies, Clementine discovers that certain choices must be made even in a world just awakening from a great reckoning.(complacency or courage)(self or society)(life or death)On occasion, even the apocalypse demands that a stand be taken.





	1. In the Pines

**Author's Note:**

> Many happy greetings and salutations, Walking Dead fans.
> 
> So, to contextualize this story: I, like many of my fellow fans, fell in love with and was promptly disappointed (and at times frankly disgusted) by TWDG Season 2 when it was first unleashed five years ago. So enormous was my dislike of the latter half of the season that I actually stopped following the series until the latest and final installment, but even through that dry spell, I kept coming back to a concept as to how I, personally, would write Season 2 if I had the power to hop back in time and stop disaster from unfolding. The story kept going off and on the back burner from that point forward, until my decision to finally play TWDG: The Final Season brought it back to the forefront for good. Now, thanks almost entirely to the vigilant aid and enthusiastic brainstorming of my much-appreciated collaborator SmoshArrowFan, I finally unleash it upon all of you for your judgement and - hopefully - reading pleasure.
> 
> Enjoy, and happy hunting.
> 
> (This chapter written by: Sven)

**Chapter I: In the Pines.  
** _“Little girl, little girl, don’t lie to me.”_

**Clementine.  
** **  
** Clementine thought, _This is it._

She thought, _This_ **_can’t_ ** _be it._

It wasn’t the first time those two perfectly opposed concepts had struck her back-to-back in the past two years, but now they beat in her head like a drum. Maybe that was only natural, all things considered. In her current circumstances - lost in the woods, surrounded on all sides, and with her arm torn open and the world trying to swim away from her with every step - the first half of the thought sounded especially loud in her head. Clementine was sure she had been in worse positions, but she really couldn’t remember _when._

Willing her body to keep going, willing the world to stay with her, Clementine thought, _This can’t be it. It can’t be._

Then, like clockwork, _But it is._

At least the routine strum of those two thoughts was something to focus on. Better them than the walkers. Better them than the current state of her left arm. The wound was just minutes in the making, but already here Clementine was in a state of woozy borderline delirium, with the world swimming and fogging before her eyes thanks to lost blood. Beyond that, _Christ_ did it hurt. It felt like her nerves were on fire from wrist to elbow, and every tug of her blood-soaked sleeve against the jagged shreds of her arm sent a stabbing electric jolt through her.

At least it had been a dog and not a walker. Small comfort, but at least there was that.

Clementine thought, _This is it. You can’t just keep doing this._

Then, in a bid to squash that voice at least for the time, _Wouldn’t be the first time. Just have to keep moving. Keep walking, keep moving forward. Just need to find help, or supplies. Maybe a first aid kit._ She added to that, if just to keep her focus from slipping to the husky groans behind her ( _god they’re everywhere, how can they be everywhere in the middle of nowhere_ ), _This isn’t it. I can do this. I’ve done it before. Just another hurdle. I can_ -

Something heavy, wet, and shambling smashed into her. Clementine intuited the cold, damp soil of the ground rising up to greet her, left side first. This was followed promptly by a shredding lance of pain from her arm all the way up to her shoulder, driving the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp of a cry. The walker was upon her at once, and Clementine only _just_ had the wherewithal to brace her good arm against its chest before the rotting, yammering maw could clamp down on her. She tried to raise her left arm to use as further leverage, but she could still barely feel it, let alone use it. Left without any better alternative, Clementine pushed herself backwards in a frantic daze, trying to slip out from under the corpse above her...and felt rock rise up behind her back.

That was when panic finally started to set in.

 _Not here,_ she thought, the words more a blur of motion in Clementine’s head as she threw all of her remaining strength into fending off the monster practically sitting in her lap. It was barely enough. The walker was close enough, now, that she would have been able to see into the cracked, decaying cavity of its skull were her vision not still swimmy. _Not here, not now, please God no. At least give me time to find Christa. At least give me a little while longer. Not-_

What happened next happened in the space of mere instants. One second, the walker’s head was there, gnashing and snarling at her; the next, it was gone, and Clementine took hazy note of the sight of it rolling down the gentle incline of the forest floor in her periphery. The remainder of it slackened above her, its unkillable strength leaving it in an instant, and Clementine lurched - almost _flew_ \- into a sitting position for how easily she was able to shove it off of her with her bracing arm. The shock of it widened Clementine’s eyes in more ways than one; as she snapped her head up, immediately searching, the world around her lazily swam back into clarity just in time to give her a good visual on her rescuer.

Or rather _rescuers._ Above her stood a pair of men, one using a crossbow to pick off walkers a yard or so away and the other maybe just a foot out of her reach. As Clem blinked away the shock of the rescue, the one nearest to her - by far the younger of the two, slim and mousy-haired - bent and extended his hand.

“Can you walk, kid?” He had an urgent tone to his voice and the question was blunt and clipped, but Clem intuited no hostility from him even as her eyes fell on the bloody machete dangling from his right hand and she thought, _So that did it._

“Yeah,” she said, sensing the woozy daze of her own voice. “I...I think-”

“No time, Luke,” the older man cut in, lowering his crossbow and glancing back. He was shorter than his companion, stockier and more square. “I’m out. Grab her and let’s get the hell out of here.”

The younger man, Luke, glanced at his companion, then back to Clementine. She could count four walkers down around them, removing the immediate threat, but more were closing in.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Alright.” He gave Clementine an apologetic look and added, “Sorry about this.”

Clem almost replied, but was cut off by the sensation of being scooped up and hauled off the ground. The sudden motion was enough to set her vision spinning again, and she closed her eyes against it as Luke started forward in a run that wasn’t _quite_ a sprint, but almost. The urge to drift off, to just give up and pass out like her body so desperately wanted her to do, rose up and tempted her, but she fought it off.

 _Need to scope these people out,_ Clementine thought, organizing a to-do list in her head with the remainder of her consciousness and focusing on that to bring herself back. It worked, at least to a degree, and having her eyes closed helped. She’d had just about her fill of watching the world focus and unfocus. _There’s got to be more of them. I need to stay awake, ask questions, get supplies if I can. Help would be better, but I’ll take what I can get. After that…_

Clem paused. What _did_ come after that? Her conscience told her that finding Christa came first, came before _anything,_ but the greater part of her knew that doing so would be damn close to impossible. She had no way of knowing how far the river had taken her, nor any way of knowing how far and in which direction Christa had gone in the time they’d been separated. The thought of just leaving her in the wilderness, alone and God only knows where, made Clementine feel ill in ways that had nothing to do with lost blood, but what else _could_ she do?

 _Keep on keeping on,_ Clem thought, a saying she’d taken from her dad long ago. The thought warmed and hurt her heart at the same time. It had been long enough that she could barely remember her parents’ voices, and yet that turn of phrase came to her effortlessly. _At least I’m out of danger. I have time to take stock._

Clementine cracked her eyes open just enough to see the ever-continuing expanse of misty forest moving past her. It was mocking in a way that was almost perfect. It said: _You’re not out of the woods yet._

By the time Clementine’s rescuers finally slowed to a stop, she could just make out bars of white daylight filtering through the leafy canopy above her. Even better, her vision had steadied some now that she’d (more or less) had the opportunity to rest. They were small hopes, but two years had long since taught Clem that small hopes were better than no hopes. Small hopes were what kept survivors surviving.

“I think we’re safe,” the older man called back from a yard or two ahead, one arm out against a tree as he caught his breath. “Least it looks like we lost ‘em.”

“Yeah,” Luke agreed, taking a few more steps to close the distance. Clementine saw his eyes shift as he said it, as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe his own words yet. Clem thought, _Smart._ “Yeah, I think we’re good.” He glanced down and their gazes met, insofar as they could when Clementine’s eyes were still drowsily half-lidded. “Hey, you doing alright?”

“Think so,” Clem said, the conversation dragging her back to the surface a little. She didn’t _think_ her response was dishonest; she figured it was better than a hard yes, at least. Her circumstances had changed so quickly, she could still feel the greater part of her mind reeling. “I-I can walk, I think.”

“Really,” Luke said, his eyebrows going up a touch and his voice disbelieving. “Looked to me like you could barely crawl away from those lurkers back there. You’re in bad shape, kid.”

They continued on, walking this time rather than sprinting, and Clementine had time to think that, bad shape or no, she would still much rather be walking under her own power rather than trust a perfect stranger to carry her out. Still, the thought crossed her mind, _You don’t even know if you’d make it, how dizzy you are. Besides, they saved you, and that’s better than you’ve had for a while._

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” the older man spoke up, glancing back at them over his shoulder. Something about the even keel of his voice put Clem’s nerves a little more at ease, but only a little. “Y’have people with you?”

Clementine considered her options and decided that dodging the truth, now, wouldn’t get her anywhere. Besides, she didn’t really have a reason to lie, at least about this. “Just my friend and I,” she said. “Christa. Some people attacked us.”

Luke and his companion exchanged a glance, and Clementine knew enough now to read what it meant: unease. She hadn’t noticed it before, when she’d been at her wobbliest, but now she finally picked up on an undercurrent of anxiety between the two men - maybe even fear. Clem thought, _Well that’s interesting._

“These folks happen to mention what they were after?” the older of the two questioned her. Clementine gave him a little shake of her head.

“I think they just wanted food,” she said. “We were cooking some sort of weasel.”

“They attacked you for a _weasel_ ?” Luke said. She could _hear_ the disgust. “Jesus, that’s low.” He paused a moment, as if in thought. Then: “They didn’t mention any names? Weren’t searching for anybody?”

Clementine shook her head again. As she did so, a thought came to her with almost startling clarity: _They’re being hunted. For whatever reason, somebody is after these people._

And for what reason...who knew.

“Well,” Luke said, breaking the moment’s silence. A touch of the nervousness had left his voice, but not quite _all._ “I’m Luke, and this here is Pete.”

“Hey,” the older man said, finally cracking a smile. It was enough to make her wonder if he’d ever been a grandfather, a thought which was followed by, _Doubt it. Not quite old enough._

“Hey,” Clementine returned, feeling...well, if not quite perfectly at-ease, at least reassured. Maybe this was a good thing after all. “I’m Clementine.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Clementine,” Luke replied, smiling down at her. The look seemed to come more easily than it did to Pete. “Got any plans for what you’re gonna do next?”

Clementine thought about it, but it was one of those things that didn’t need much consideration. “I need to find my friend,” she said, in full awareness that she had no idea where to even start. Then she added, more testing, “But I need some supplies.”

“What you need is a doctor,” Pete cut in. “You’re better than you were, Clementine, but you still look mighty roughed-up.”

The image of the four-inch gash down her left forearm came back to her, as did a perfectly clear image of the bite marks that ran alongside it. Then the dog sprang into her mind and Clementine shut the door on _that_ image, having absolutely no urge to relive the attack or what she’d done. She was about to have a major problem if she didn’t speak up now, in any case.

“Yeah, you could say that,” she hazarded, glancing up at Luke. “Could you put me down? I’d like to sit a minute.”

Another exchanged glance between Luke and Pete, but neither of them seemed to question it much. “Sure,” Luke said, stopping in time with his companion and lowering Clementine to the ground with her back propped against a tree. She could see that he still hadn’t noticed her arm, which was for the best. Scared people were hasty people. “Think we’re safe enough. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Better.” And that much was true. Her arm still hurt like the devil, but at least she had some clarity back. Clem figured she would need it, as she used her good hand to cradle the injured limb across her lap. “Okay, I didn’t want to scare you, but-”

And _that_ was when Luke finally noticed. Clem saw it in him immediately - the shift on his features, from friendly to confused all the way to alarmed, and the impressively quick paling of his face - and wondered if speaking up was the right call after all. She thought: _Well, here goes._

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Luke breathed, drawing back, his eyes flittering from Clementine’s arm to her eyes. “Oh, shit, you’re-”

“A dog,” Clem cut in hurriedly. She was trying to sound placating, but it came out _desperate_ instead. “I _swear_ it was a dog.”

“Ain’t seen no dogs out here, Clementine,” Pete responded, brow furrowed and mouth set in a frown. He stepped closer, appraising her and studying her wound (at a careful distance, Clem noted). “Swearing doesn’t make something so.”

“Come on, kid, we _just_ saw you with those lurkers back there.” Still wide-eyed and pale-faced, Luke began to pace. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_...”

Perhaps absurdly given the circumstances, Clementine thought, _Lurkers. They call them lurkers?_

“I’m telling you the truth,” she said aloud, trying for placation again and doing a much better job of it. “I wouldn’t lie about this.” She kept her eyes on Luke for a moment, thought, _He’s not going to be much help,_ and instead moved her eyes to meet Pete’s gaze. “ _Please._ ”

The older man stared at her for a long, uneasy moment, giving Clementine just enough time to have the uncomfortable sense of being looked _through_. Then, finally, he took another step closer and said, “Alright, Clementine. Let’s have a look.”

Luke started. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, watch yourself.” Clem shifted her eyes to him just in time to lock gazes with him instead, and Luke seemed to suppress a wince. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who’s bit here.”

Clem opened her mouth to reply. Then Pete took her arm and moved the ragged sleeve of her striped sweater out of the way, sending a fresh jolt of pain through her and making her hiss out instead, “ _Ow._ ” Drawing in a breath, she switched her eyes from Luke to Pete again. “See?”

Pete regarded her torn arm, then looked up, eyes searching her face. It didn’t exactly give Clem comfort, but she didn’t look away. “Well,” he said, his tone audibly careful. “It looks mighty long to be a lurker bite, but it’s hard to tell for sure. Where’d this dog go?”

“I-I found it in a campsite by the river,” Clem said, once more fighting the urge to look away from that long, judging stare. “It attacked me for my food. I..." Unbidden, Clementine saw the image of the dog - Sam - struggling against the tent stakes she’d pushed him into in her struggle to get away. She shoved them aside before she could see the rest. “I killed it.”

“So, what?” Clementine saw Luke’s expression turn from passively panicked to actively incensed. In another circumstance, it might have been comical. “A dog bites you and you just kill it?”

“What would you have done?” Pete questioned, shooting Luke a pointed look. The younger man stumbled for a moment.

“I mean--shit, I don’t know. You just-” He seemed to deflate, going back to looking anxious and confused again. “You don’t kill dogs, man.”

Pete looked back. His eyes were serious again, all appraisal. “Clementine?”

Again, Clem met the gaze. Better that way, as difficult as it was. “Yes?”

“You telling us the truth?”

She didn’t even have to consider it. “I am.” Then, in spite of the pain she was in and in spite of her situation and her desperation, she added, “I swear I am.”

Pete regarded her for a while longer. Then his face finally softened and he stood. “Alright, Clementine. That’ll do for me.”

“Well, what _else_ was she gonna say?” Luke protested. This prompted another pointed look from his companion.

“I have a good bullshit detector, Luke,” Pete responded, offering Clementine a hand up as he did so. She extended her own, mentally thanking him and whatever god happened to be listening. “That’s why you never beat me at poker.”

“Hey, you don’t always..." Luke paused, frowned, and crossed his arms. “Alright, fine. But how can you know?”

“Well, I sure as Hell know I ain’t gonna take a chance on leaving a little girl in the woods to die when we’ve got a doctor with us who can make a call.” Clem felt him tug her up to her feet, but her mind was already racing. A doctor. That was good. That was perfect. “We’ll have Carlos take a look at that bite.”

Luke looked down at Clementine, then back up at Pete. “Nick ain’t gonna like this. Not after what happened.”

Pete’s voice turned from pointed to hard. “You don’t have to remind me, boy.”

Clementine glanced up just long enough to see Luke’s expression turn from nervous to apologetic. “Right. Sorry, sir.”

The older man’s face softened again, and he patted Luke on the shoulder in a way that made Clementine wonder if they were family. Then Pete turned, motioning for both of them. “Come on.”

Luke followed him, and Clementine turned to see - finally - the break of the forest’s edge. Beyond it, she could see the sunset, but best of all she could see a wood cabin silhouetted against the yellow-orange light. Clem took two steps forward...and then the world started to swim again, much more suddenly and ferociously than before.

She had just enough time to think, _Got up too fast._ Then Clem’s surroundings finally blurred into obscurity and she heard herself hit the forest floor with a thunk.

Up ahead, she made out Luke’s voice. “Oh, shit-”

And then she was gone.


	2. In the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clementine seeks help and unearths secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after the unexpectedly fantastic reception of the opening chapter of this story, here's the followup! Future updates probably won't be as quick, since each chapter takes a while to transcribe from canon events, but for the time being: enjoy!
> 
> (Chapter written by: Lily)

**Chapter II: In the Water.  
** _ “You feel that you should run, but where are you to hide?” _

**Clementine.  
**   
“-with what fucking happened.”

Clementine blinked slowly, regaining consciousness. Her eyes darted around the small group standing over her, recognizing Pete immediately. He and Luke must have carried her back the rest of the way to the cabin. Speaking of Luke, she didn’t see him among the adults. He had probably gone inside, then.

The other three adults who were present, Clem didn’t recognize. She keyed in instantly to the tension around her. The group was arguing about something, judging by their raised voices and hostile stances.

Well, she figured, they were probably arguing about what to do with her. After all, she was a stranger to these people, and on top of that, she’d been bitten.  _ She _ knew it had been a dog, but these people were clearly quick to assume the worst. She couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same. Christa surely would have. Clem’s experiences had taught her not to trust people immediately, and she could only assume that others had learned the same.

It wasn’t like she was planning to stick around, though. She just needed to get her arm stitched up, and Luke had said that his group had a doctor. Clem could only hope that he fixed her up quick enough that she could set out to find Christa first thing the next morning.

“Would someone mind telling me what the  _ fuck _ is going on here?” A visibly pregnant woman spoke angrily.

“Now hold on, Rebecca!” Pete tried to calm his friend, but the woman continued to fume next to him.

“We got this, don’t worry.” A younger guy, with shaggy dark hair beneath an orange cap spoke. His posture was slightly hunched, as if something was pressing down on him, and his grip on his rifle was so firm that his knuckles were turning white. While his words were confident, his demeanor was anything but.

The woman, Rebecca, didn’t seem satisfied. Her eyes narrowed. “Like  _ hell _ you do. Did anyone even think to ask where she came from? For all we know, she could be working with Carver!” Carver. That put a name to whoever was after these people. Hopefully, he would stay just that, long enough for her to get what she needed and get on the road. No use getting tangled in these people’s problems. No, that never ended well.

“She already told us that she and her friend were attacked out in the woods. Then she was bitten by a dog.” Pete spoke firmly. Clem appreciated the older man defending her against his own group. That took some guts. She was reminded for a moment of Carley, and how she’d stood up for Ben so long ago… Although, that may not have been the best comparison to make, just because of how it had ended. Clem would prefer nobody get shot this time. She pushed herself into a more upright position, preparing to get the group’s attention as Rebecca spoke, gesturing with her hands.

“What, and you just believed her? You should’ve put her out of her misery right then. Dog bite my ass.”

“Just let m-“ Clementine started, but before she could finish, a loud shot rang out right by her, making her jump.

“What the-“

The bullet had just barely missed her arm. Clem looked up, breathing heavily, and saw the group staring at her. The younger man still had his rifle pointed at her, looking almost as startled as she felt. What did he have to be confused about? He was the one who’d tried to shoot her, what did he think was going to happen? You’re never supposed to point a gun at something you don’t want to shoot, Lee had taught her that.

Pete moved first, grabbing the gun out of the younger man’s hands. “Keep your finger off the trigger, boy!”

The younger man merely gave him a sulky look, shaking his head slightly and moving to the back of the group.

The door swung open quickly, creaking loudly as Luke ran out onto the porch. Clem took the opportunity to get to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself instinctively. She usually did that when she got scared or nervous. Ben had taught her to do it one night a long time ago, when he’d heard her having a nightmare. He’d been a little awkward at first, but had done his best to comfort her. He’d been a good friend…

“Whoa! Whoa! What the fuck?!”

Rebecca shook her head angrily. “You idiot! Every lurker for five miles probably heard that!”

The dark haired man turned to face her, throwing his hands up. “You're the one telling me to fuckin’ shoot her!”

”Everybody just calm down for a second!” A bigger man who had been quiet up to that point spoke, his voice deep. He reached out to Rebecca, placing a comforting hand on her arm. She shook it off.

“Clementine, you okay?” Luke jogged over to the group, looking at her with concern.

“Just let me go… if you don't want to help me, th-then I'll leave. Look, I'm sorry I bothered you.”

”Alright, we'll talk about it later. We got a doctor right here, okay? He'll have a look.” Luke said softly, before turning to the rest of his group. His demeanor changed instantly, glaring at them. “Now what the hell is wrong with you people?! Okay, she's just scared!”

Rebecca took a step toward him, crossing her arms. “We're all scared, Luke. Don't act like we're the ones being irrational 'cause we don't buy this bullshit story.”

The dark haired man seemed to be in agreement. ”No way she survived out here on her own! Why are we even arguing about this?!”

As he spoke, Clementine noticed another man joining the group. The other adults parted for him. Clem could feel her heartbeat in her throat as he approached. This man clearly held some sort of authority in their group. She could only hope he would be on her side.

“Let me take a look.” He spoke firmly and calmly, gesturing to her injured arm. Clementine found herself looking over his shoulder at Luke for reassurance. He nodded and spoke gently.

“It's okay. Go ahead. He's a doctor.”

Clementine gave a small nod in return, and carefully rolled up her sleeve, making sure not to aggravate the bite.

“Damn, that must've hurt,” Someone said quietly from the back of the group.

The doctor crouched down to get a closer look. Clem winced as he touched the area around the wound.

“Hmm. Whatever it was, it got you good,” The doctor said, his voice gravelly.. There was a beat of silence before the trigger-happy man, who had been staring at a patch of grass, turned and walked to Luke, his eyes narrow.

“This isn't how we do things, man. When you're bit, you get put down. End of story. I'm not going through this again.”

“No one's suggesting that,” Luke brought his hands up, clearly trying to calm his friend. Pete spoke up before either of the pair could say anything else.

“We could take her arm off.” Clem gasped audibly, in part because she didn’t want to lose her arm to a dog bite of all things, and in part because it brought back memories of the Marsh House, when she had… well, she’d done what she had to. Of course, it would have been avoidable if she hadn’t been careless, and naive, and-

“I know that worked for a cousin down in Ainsworth. We could try that,” Pete’s voice brought her back to the present, and the very present danger of her arm being cut off, or worse. The group was clearly not in agreement over what to do with her. She had to try and sway someone to her side. She looked around deciding who to appeal to.

“It won't do any good. You'll just be making it worse for the girl,” Rebecca said, and for once Clem agreed with her.

“It's crazy. No one's gonna volunteer to do that!” The man next to Pete said, crossing his arms over his chest. Pete shook his head.

“I would. If it means saving her life.”

“Then what? How would we know it worked?” The dark haired man asked petulantly. Luke shook his head, before speaking firmly to the group.

“Just let Carlos have a damn look first!”

Pete seemed both the most levelheaded of the group, even if he was advocating for cutting off her arm. She focused her attention on the older man.

“You don't want to do something you're gonna regret. Better to be sure, right?” She said, hoping she’d swayed the older man. Pete looked at her for a moment, his gaze calculating, just like it had been in the woods. Seeming to have come to a conclusion, he turned back to his group.

“C’mon...she weighs about as much as a sack of flour. We could take her if it comes to that.”

Just then, the front door creaked opened slightly, revealing a girl who looked to be just a few years older than Clementine. She had dark hair, cut just above her shoulders ( _ though it was still long enough to grab _ , Clem noted), and pink rimmed glasses.

“Who's she?” The girl asked, no hint of maliciousness in her tone, merely curiosity. That was a refreshing change from the adults immediate hostility.

“Sarah?” Carlos said, exasperated, before getting to his feet and turning toward the girl. “What'd I say? Stay inside.”

The girl, Sarah, looked dejected, but closed the door nonetheless. Clem figured that she was Carlos’ daughter, judging by their interaction and similar appearance. She felt a pang of sadness as she thought of her own father, but swallowed it down. Now wasn’t the time to get nostalgic.

At this point, Clem had abandoned her plan of getting help from the group. Clearly, they didn’t want her around. The best she could hope was that they let her go, rather than… well, take any more drastic measures. Or her arm, she’d rather they didn’t take that, either.

“I don't mean to cause any trouble. I just wanted to find help. But if you let me go, I promise you'll never see me again,” Clem spoke to the man inspecting her.

The doctor huffed. “And where exactly would you go?”

“To find my friend Christa,” She said without hesitation. They’d been together for so long, and though the older woman had been somewhat cold towards her since Omid… since he’d gotten shot, Clem knew that she would do anything to keep her safe. She needed to know that Christa was alright.

“Forget it. You won't get five feet,” The dark haired guy spat out, and as much as Clem hated it, she knew he was right. She was in no condition to go out and find Christa on her own. She needed some sort of help from these people, or she’d be in trouble.

“Look, I dunno what the hell took a bite outta her, but still… she's just a kid. Worst case, she turns and we can deal with it. We’ve dealt with it before,” Pete said. Clementine appreciated that he continued to stick up for her. He reminded her a lot of the older man they’d met on the train to Savannah, what was his name… something with a C. He’d been kind to her, and to all of them, considering they’d basically hijacked his home, but he hadn’t sugarcoated anything. He was the reason Lee had taught her to shoot, and the reason he’d cut her hair short. Probably the reason she was still alive. He’d even saved her life again when they got to the city, at the cost of his own. Clementine owed a lot to the man.

Carlos finally finished inspecting her bite, getting to his feet and turning to face his group. Clem hugged herself again, partially to calm her nerves, but also because the cold was getting to her. Her clothes were still somewhat damp, and the wind was picking up. Whatever the group decided, she could only hope they figured it out soon. She didn’t want to be out in the cold for much longer.

“So? What do you think?”

“Was it a lurker?” The dark haired man asked. Carlos crossed his arms over his chest.

“A bite like that...could be anything. Her arm is too ripped up to tell. If I had more time… but no. At this point, there’s only one way to find out,” Carlos said, and Clementine honestly had no idea what he meant by that.

“How?” Pete asked, voicing Clem’s thoughts.

“We wait,” The doctor said. Rebecca’s eyes widened.

“What?!”

“By tomorrow morning, if the fever's set in, we'll know if she's gonna turn. In the meantime, we can lock her in the shed,” Carlos said. Clementine took a step back, hands starting to tremble. She didn’t like the sound of that. She couldn’t stay outside for much longer, not in these temperatures. Not to mention, the bite could get infected if she didn’t take care of it. Christa had taught her that.

“What about my arm? It needs to get cleaned, an-and stitched, and bandaged…” Clementine spoke, trying to appeal to the group, but knowing that it probably wasn’t going to do any good. They had all made up their minds one way or another.

“The girl is in bad shape, Carlos,” Luke said, clearly concerned about her wellbeing. She could appreciate that.

“We have all that stuff inside the cabin, we could probably get by with-” The bigger man added, before Rebecca cut him off.

“ _ Alvin _ , please…”

“But, yeah, we can't do nothing,” Alvin said quickly, somewhat sheepishly. Clementine was growing frustrated with the situation. She wished Christa were with her, or anyone… Lee. He wouldn’t let these people lock her in a shed. She remembered when he’d stood up to Larry in the drug store, back in the beginning… she winced. Too many bad memories, it was best not to dwell on them. Especially when her fate was being decided in the present.

“I’m not wasting supplies on a lurker bite. If it turns out you're telling the truth, I'll clean it and stitch it up for you in the morning,” Carlos said, his words holding an air of finality as he turned and walked back toward the cabin.

“But…” Clem tried, but the man didn’t waver, merely heading back inside.

“I’m sorry. It's the best we're gonna get,” Luke said sympathetically, and Clementine probably would’ve appreciated the sentiment more if she weren’t about to get locked in a damn shed overnight with an open wound.

Pete offered the gun back to the dark haired man, who snatched it back swiftly. Pete gave him a look.

“Finger off the trigger, son.”

“I ain't your son,” The dark haired guy glowered, turning away.

“Don't be like that, man,” Luke said firmly, but Pete shook his head.

“It's alright. Boy's got his mom's temper.”

The dark haired guy chose to ignore Pete, turning to Clem and jerking his head forward. “Come on.”

He and Luke led Clementine toward the old shed. Clem eyed the structure as she was marched toward the dingy looking building, noting that parts of it looked somewhat weak. In places, it looked like a walker could easily force their way in. She shuddered.

“This is just a waste of time. You'll see. And when she turns, I ain't gonna be the one cleaning up the shed,” Rebecca said as they turned away, and Clementine felt a wave of resentment toward the woman. There’s only so much bitchiness you can blame on a pregnancy, and advocating for killing a little girl definitely crosses that line, no matter how ‘suspicious’ she may be. Christa would never have done something like that.

“It was a dog, you'll see,” She decided to say, instead of voicing her thoughts on the woman behind her. No use in provoking these people unnecessarily.

“I guess we'll find out in the morning,” Luke said, but his face conveyed that he didn’t feel good about the entire situation. Easy for him to think that, Clementine frowned. He wasn’t the one being locked in a damn shed.

“If I last that long. Maybe you could go look for it?” Clem suggested, knowing that it was a long shot.

“I wish I could. I really do. But it's too risky. Sorry.”

The group reached the shed. Luke stepped forward and opened the door, which creaked loudly, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. Clem looked at Luke dejectedly, and he mirrored her expression. Clem turned away, sighing and steeling her resolve. She walked into the shed, dragging her feet, and Luke closed the doors behind her with an air of finality. Clem paused for a moment, taking in the shed’s interior. She heard the two men’s voices fade as they walked away.

“Why are we doing this? It's so fucking dumb.”

“Because it's safer this way. And I'd rather be sure.”

“Yeah, but safer for who?”

“I can't believe this…” Clem breathed, reassuring herself. “You're gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine…”

Talking to herself was another habit she’d picked up early on. Lee had done it a lot, too. She’d asked him about it, once, when they were staying at the motor inn. He’d laughed and said it was something he’d done since becoming a teacher. He’d gotten so used to explaining things to his students, that he’d basically narrate everything in his daily life. Later on, after shit had hit the fan, he’d done it as a way to calm himself down. There was something comforting about hearing someone’s voice, even if it’s your own. Clem had done it ever since.

Looking around the shed, she realized that if a walker could probably get in, as she’d figured, she could probably force her way out. She searched for something she could use. Her eyes caught on a tackle box that was pushed into a corner of the shed. Christa had told her once that fishing line was a decent substitute if you couldn’t find any real suture thread, and there was no way she was gonna leave her bite alone until morning.

“Not much left in here…” She said, rifling through the bin, before coming up with a spool of fishing line.

“I guess if I have to, I can use this for stitches.”

Clementine pushed the box to the side, and noticed that behind where the box had been was a weak, rotted piece of wood, held in place by a single board. She tried getting under it with her knife, but to no avail. If she could find something sturdier to pry it off with… She glanced around, her eyes catching on a hammer perched on a shelf that was too high for her to reach… but it was above a folding table.

Clementine unfolded the table from the wall and climbed onto it, careful not to aggravate her bitten arm. She scooted against the wall, leaning one arm on the shelf and reaching the other across to grab the hammer. Right as she was about to get it, the shelf gave out under her weight, and it fell to the ground. Both Clem and the hammer fell as well, the girl letting out a small yell in spite of herself as she landed on her bad arm.

She paused for a moment, regaining her breath and hoping that none of the group had heard her, before pushing herself back to her feet. The girl tried her best to keep her groans of pain quiet, but they forced themselves out louder than she would have liked. She walked toward the fallen shelf, breaths labored, and knelt down next to it. The hammer must have fallen under the board. She winced as she lifted it up, and sure enough, there was the hammer. She grabbed it quickly, thankful that the hard part was over.

She moved back toward the weak spot next to the tackle box, and used the hammer to pry the board away. It took a little exertion, but she successfully pulled it off. She took a small step back, arms still wrapped around her shivering form, and kicked the rotted wood once, and then twice before it fell away. She smiled smugly. If these people wanted to keep her locked in a shed, they were going to have to try harder next time.

Well, hopefully, there wouldn’t be a next time.

Clementine got on her hands and knees and crawled through the gap quickly, before forcing herself to her feet. She needed to get into the house and grab more supplies to fix up her arm. The group would probably be pissed when they found out, but she would be even more pissed if her wound got infected, so they would have to deal.

“They have a doctor… he's gotta have stuff for stitches,” She said to herself, sneaking up to the house. The sun had gone down since they’d locked her in, and the air was biting. She shivered as she tried to open the back door. It was locked. Fantastic. She tried each of the windows, but they were all locked as well. Shit. Just one more window, and then she’d have to try the front door. She knew it was creaky from earlier, and she wanted to make as little noise as possible.

She made her way up to the final window, quickly ducking to the side as she saw Rebecca and Alvin. She had gotten the feeling that they were together earlier, and now, that thought was pretty much confirmed.

“It makes me feel like a fucking idiot when we're not on the same page,” Rebecca was saying, gesturing with her hands. Alvin shook his head.

“We  _ are _ on the same page!”

“Not out there, we weren't! Not about the girl! I saw you get soft!” Clementine winced, pulling her injured arm closer to her body. She felt a little bad for causing tension in their relationship, before remembering that both of them had let her get locked in a shed. She continued to listen in.

“What do you want me to do, Bec? Put a bullet in her?”

“I want you to think about our family  _ first _ .”

“It's all I think about. So don't give me any shit.”

There was a pause, and then Rebecca took a step back.

“I need some air,” She said, leaving the room. Alvin sat on the bed, staring down at the floor. He’d been sympathetic toward Clementine earlier… maybe he could help her out. She took a breath and rapped gently on the glass. Alvin peered out, gasping slightly when he caught sight of her. He stood up and opened the window.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked incredulously.

“I--I need your help.” Clementine said, shivering.

“Me? No. I'm sorry, but I can't do nothing,” The man spoke quickly. Shit, she would need to do some convincing.

“Please. I need to fix my arm.”

“Are you out of your mind? Even if you ain't bitten by some lurker--which you probably are--you can't  _ be _ here. You gotta get out of here, you understand? Get back into that shed and Carlos'll take care of you in the morning. Damn it, girl. Go,” Alvin said, trying to hurry her away. Clementine was getting frustrated at the entire situation. She gave the man a firm look.

“You'd just let me die?”

“I wouldn't let you do nothing. It's not my call. We're a group,” Alvin said defensively.

“But you could help. And if you don't, isn't that the same?” Lee had helped her out at the very start. If he hadn’t…

The man paused. “I don't know, alright?”

Clementine continued. “I saw when everyone was arguing--you wanted to help,” She said, and it was true. He’d said they had supplies to help her, only backing down when Rebecca had told him off. But Rebecca wasn’t with him now, so maybe she had a chance…

“You didn't see anything.” Alvin glanced to the side. “Look--you gotta get outta here before my wife finds you. I'm serious, you gotta go. I got enough problems already. We got a baby on the way, Rebecca's all emotional, got a mess of hormones causing all sorts of trouble. I don't need any more, get it? Now  _ go _ .”

“ _ Please _ help. Please…” She said, getting desperate. Alvin softened slightly.

“Don't cry…”

“I’m not gonna cry.” Clem said firmly, and it was true. She wasn’t going to let herself cry. “I’m just… tired.”

The man paused for a moment.

“You're… not with Carver?”

“No.”

“And you didn't get bit by a dead person?” He asked.

“No.” She paused, “I'll do anything I can to help your situation. Anything,” Clementine said, and it was true. If he helped her out, she would owe him.

”Except leave me alone,” Alvin said drily.

“Yeah, I guess,” She shrugged. Alvin sighed again.

“I’m screwed if anyone finds out I did this. You understand?”

“The b...the cut on my arm needs to be cleaned and stitched,” She said, choosing not to answer his question. She didn’t want to guarantee anything. Best way not to break promises is to rarely make them. If Alvin noticed her aversion, he didn’t comment on it.

“Stitched? I ain't doing that,” Alvin said quickly. Clem nodded.

“I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“Alright, look... I don't know what I can find. We're short on bandages, but I might be able to find something clean that would work,” Alvin said, shaking his head.

“I need something to clean out with, and a needle and thread could help, too,” Clementine added. She would really prefer not to have to use the fishing line.

Alvin shook his head. “I don't even know where to look. Carlos has medical supplies on lockdown, and we don't got much these days.”

If Alvin could get her anything at all, he would be a huge help. “Well, whatever you can get. I'll find the rest on my own.”

“Okay. Wait here.”

Alvin left the room, and Clementine glanced around nervously. She didn’t like being so vulnerable and out in the open. Too many people had made the mistake of not having their guard up for her not to be on edge. She jumped as she heard a loud noise, turning, but unable to see anything. She turned again when the door opened inside and Alvin returned.

“I found you some bandages.” Alvin said, handing her the bandages through the window. “And I, uh...I got you a juice box. In case you're thirsty.”

Clementine paused for a moment, but took the juice box from him. It was a sweet gesture, if not the most necessary thing.

“Thank you,” She said, and she meant it. Just then, someone rapped on Alvin’s door

“Alvin, house meeting in five minutes,” Carlos said, thankfully without coming into the room.

“O--okay. Thanks.” Alvin replied, before turning back to Clem. “Now you need to go.”

He took a step back and closed the window firmly, turning and leaving the room. Clementine sighed. She couldn’t get in through Alvin and Rebecca’s room, it was too risky. And she didn’t want to try the front door. There had to be another way…

She stepped off of the porch to try and get a better look at the house. Maybe there was a second story window that she could climb up to somehow… Her eyes caught on something much closer to the ground. A piece of plywood was pushed against the foundation of the house, presumably to patch a hole. Maybe there was a way to get inside from below?

She tried to pull the plywood away with her bare hands, grunting slightly, before noticing that it had been nailed into place. Oh. It was probably best if she used the hammer, then. She pulled it out and used it to remove the nails, glancing behind her as she heard a walker groan. She’d better get moving, she thought, as she pushed the plywood to the side. She crawled through the hole, before getting to her feet under the foundation. She had to duck her head to stand, but made her way under the house looking for some sort of an entrance. The sounds of footsteps and a faucet running made her anxious, so Clementine picked up the pace. Her eyes settled on what looked like a trapdoor.

“Nice,” She murmured to herself, before trying to push up on the door. It didn’t budge. She pulled out her knife, wedging it into the gap, and slowly worked it in deeper to widen the opening. It opened ever so slowly, ever so slowly…

And broke.

“Shit.”

But it had done the job, at least. She reached up again and carefully pushed the door open, climbing up into what looked to be a large storage closet. Clem heard muffled noises through the door, and paused, hoping for them to leave.

“I’ve already made my decision.” She recognized Carlos’s voice.

“Well, Luke has more to say, I guess. Where's Sarah?” Pete.

“She's got her book. She doesn't need to be a part of this.”

Clem paused for a moment, waiting for their footsteps to leave the room, before pushing the door open a crack. She looked around, and, sensing there was no one else there, entered the living room. She took it in first, and she had to admit, it was cozy. She hadn’t been in a place that looked this nice since… well, maybe there were a few places, like the houses in Savannah, and the Saint John’s Dairy, but her memories of those places had been… tainted. Clementine shook her head. Not the time.

She glanced at the coffee table, her eyes catching on a deck of playing cards. She’d loved playing card games when she was younger. Her dad had taught her a couple, but she wasn’t sure she could even remember the rules anymore. The thought brought her a pang of sadness, which she swallowed down. No need to dwell on that, either. She made her way to one of the doors, where she could hear muffled discussion, and opened the door a tad.

“-all we know, she could be connected with Carver,” Rebecca’s voice carried. They were really concerned with that Carver guy. She shuddered. She knew what people were capable of. Anyone who had these people that scared… Well, she didn’t want to stick around to meet them.

“Come on. There's no way. She’s just a kid,” Luke dismissed.

“She could be. We don't know,” Alvin said, and Clementine frowned. She knew that he believed her, but he was trying to appease Rebecca. She guessed it made sense, but she still wished he were willing to defend her.

“She's connected to somebody. There's no way she's out here by herself,” That was the guy who’d almost shot her earlier.

“She said she was with a friend and they got attacked,” Pete said. Clementine was grateful that he’d paid attention to her.

“Yeah, right,” The other man scoffed.

“Whoever she's with, they'll probably come looking for her,” Carlos said. Clem hoped he was right. She really wished that Christa was with her now. Alvin shook his head.

“Great. They show up and we've got her locked in the shed. That’ll make them happy.”

“You think we should bring her in here?” Rebecca asked incredulously. Alvin shook his head again.

“No. I'm just saying it wouldn't look too good.”

“It's just a precautionary measure. Anyone else would do the same,” Carlos said firmly. Yeah, right, Clementine thought. No, not everyone would lock an eleven year old girl in a shed with an open wound.

“You really think Carver would come after us?” Luke asked after a beat, nerves seeping into his voice.

“You think he wouldn’t?!” The dark haired man asked incredulously

“He's not exactly the type to let things lie,” Pete added darkly.

“What happened, happened. There's nothing we can do about it now,” Luke said, almost as if he were reassuring himself.

“Let him come. I really don't give a damn,” Alvin spoke.

“Alvin!” Rebecca scolded.

“What? I don’t,” The man said.

“You brought her back here, not me. You knew she was bit,” The dark haired man said to Luke. He had begun pacing back and forth across the kitchen, hands on his hips.

“What was I supposed to do, huh? Leave her out there to die?”

“Better her than us.”

“You'd've done the same, Nick,” Luke said. So, trigger-happy finally had a real name.

“It wasn't the brightest idea.”

“Oh, and firing your rifle was, huh…? Next time we'll just put up a neon sign that says ‘Lurkers Welcome’.” Luke replied. Clementine smiled in spite of herself. Nick hadn’t shown much remorse over almost shooting her, and she got a little pleasure from Luke giving him a hard time about it. Rebecca moved to leave the room, and Alvin stopped her.

“Where you goin’, hon?”

“I want to get my sweater,” The woman replied.

“We'll be done in a minute,” Carlos said. Rebecca reluctantly returned to the table.

“You're in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by lurkers, about to get eaten alive, and you're telling us it was a dog?” Nick asked, continuing his conversation with Luke. He had a point, but at the same time, what did she have to gain from lying about a bite? She was going to die anyway if it had been a walker.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but... look, for whatever reason, I think she's telling the truth,” Luke said genuinely. Nick rolled his eyes.

Pete sighed loudly.

“Look, there's no point in arguing about it now. She's in the shed, she's not gonna hurt anyone,” One of those statements was true. “We'll just see what's what in the morning.”

“But Carlos said she could  _ die _ if she doesn't get her arm treated,” Luke said firmly.

“Assuming she doesn't turn,” Rebecca said. Clem frowned. She didn’t like Rebecca much at all.

“That true? The girl could really die?” Alvin asked softly.

“If the infection spreads... anything's possible. It could definitely get a whole lot worse for her,” Carlos said.

“Don't we have penicillin? Or something that could, y'know... stop the infection from spreading?” Luke asked.

“We have some. But not enough to spare,” Carlos said, speaking firmly. Clem got that they were doing what was best for their group, but that also meant that she was justified in doing the same. It was only fair.

“We're not wasting anything on her. What if one of us needs it?” Rebecca added.

“Look, I'm just saying, we could help, that's all.”

“We need to think of ourselves first. That's just the way it is,” Rebecca said. Well, Rebecca had said it first, not her.

“We can't just let her die. Not if there's something we can do about it. Let's just say she's telling the truth and she doesn't turn. Then what?” Pete asked.

“We apologize for being assholes. And then we help fix her arm,” Luke said, sounding resigned.

“She can't stay with us. We barely have enough supplies for ourselves,” Rebecca said. Pete scoffed.

“We've got more fish in the traps than we could ever eat,” He said. Nick shook his head.

“Yeah, but she's  _ seen _ us. She knows we're here.”

“What, you scared of a little girl?” Luke asked, his tone slightly teasing.

“A little girl is not the problem. It's who she might tell,” Nick said darkly.

“We gotta keep an eye on her,” Alvin added.

“ _ If _ she doesn't turn. Which she probably will,” Rebecca said.

“I gotta take a leak,” Nick said, starting for the door.

“Hold on. We're almost done,” Carlos stopped him. Nick sighed.

“Fine.”

“If a little girl can find her way here, then almost anyone can,” Carlos said after a beat. Luke leaned forward.

“Pete, you saw those lurkers, alright? That's more than we've seen in a while.”

Pete nodded. “Yeah. Seems like it's not as safe as it was. Least not like when we found this place.”

“Maybe it's time to move on,” Nick said. Rebecca shook her head.

“We can't just keep running. At some point we've got to settle down. With the baby-”

Carlos spoke over her, voice firm but calm. “We should. And we will. But can we find somewhere safe? I don't know.”

“You seen what it's like out there,” Pete said. Alvin shook his head.

“I was just starting to like this place,” He said softly. Clementine felt a little bad for this group. She knew what it was like to always be on the run… Sometimes, she just wanted to be done running. But as soon as she’d find a place where she felt safe, everything would crash down again. She really did hope that these people found somewhere safe eventually, even if they had locked her in a shed.

“Look, we've had a good run here. But if it's time to move on, then I got no problem with that,” Pete said. Luke shook his head.

“Yeah, but... I mean, where do we go from here?”

“No more cities. We all agreed on that, right? Too many damn lurkers,” Alvin muttered.

“We're not going back the way we came. That's for damn sure,” Nick added. Rebecca sighed.

“We can probably find somewhere better. We just need to look.”

Carlos shook his head. “Wherever we go, we can't get too attached. We'll be fine as long as we keep things fluid.”

“We can't forget we need to check the traps tomorrow,” Pete added. Nick shifted.

“What do we do with the girl?” He asked.

“You're not leaving her here with me!” Rebecca said firmly. If there was anything Clem had learned so far, it was that Rebecca really didn’t like her for whatever reason. Luke shook his head.

“We can't just keep her locked in the shed. We're not animals.”

“Then take her with you,” Carlos suggested.

“What?” Nick asked.

“You want to keep an eye on her, then take her with you. Are we almost done here? I want to make sure Sarah's ready for bed,” Carlos asked, and Clementine began to creep away from the door. Pete stopped him.

“Wait a second. There's something else I want to talk about.”

Clem didn’t want to risk getting caught, and she was already pressing her luck. She quietly left her place at the door, ducking another room. This one was an empty bedroom, which she recognized as Alvin and Rebecca’s, lit only by a couple of candles.

Clementine glanced up at the pictures on the walls, her eyes catching on one in particular, a painting of a duck. As silly as it was, she was reminded of her old friend.

“Duck…” She said softly, pausing for a moment before turning to the desk. On it was a handwritten note, a list of names. Oh, these must be the names that Alvin and Rebecca were considering for their child.

She took a step back. If Alvin didn’t think to look through his own room for supplies, there was probably nothing of use inside. She walked through the living room, the rain pounding on the roof. She decided to look upstairs. Maybe there was a bathroom or something with medical supplies.

She started up the stairs, trying to avoid putting too much weight on one at any given time. She remembered from her time sneaking around own house that stairs were quieter if you distributed your weight evenly. When she made it to the top, she let out a breath. Hopefully nobody had heard her.

She entered the first room on her left, and stepped inside. It was a bedroom, and it, too, was lit by a few candles. She made her way over to the desk and opened the drawer quietly. Inside was a single watch. Clementine looked at it, considering whether or not to take it. On the one hand, it was someone else’s, and it definitely wasn’t Rebecca’s, since Clem had already been in her room. She would feel less bad if she knew it was Rebecca’s watch. And she didn’t exactly need a watch, either, but… Lee had always worn a watch, and this one kind of reminded her of him. She sighed, before pocketing it. If it was Luke’s or something, she’d just give it back.

Clementine looked through the rest of the room, but there was nothing worth taking. She made her way back to the hallway, walking a few more steps before entering the next room. She couldn’t help cracking a smile when she realized she was in the bathroom. There had to be something of use to her here. She closed the door softly behind her and stepped inside, heading straight for the medicine cabinet. There was no medicine that would be of use, only a couple bottles of soap, some band-aids, and a toothbrush. Just as she was about to close the cabinet, she spotted a pincushion sitting on the bottom shelf. Clem picked a needle from it, inspecting it in the dim light.

“It’s clean,” She said, satisfied, before pocketing it. “I’ll still need something to keep it from getting infected.”

Clem moved on the linen cabinet, but it was completely empty.

“They have to have medical supplies around here somewhere,” She said, mildly frustrated. She really wanted to just get this over with. She closed the cabinet and reached for the doorknob, pausing to make sure no one was outside.

“That man sometimes, I swear!”

Shit, that was Rebecca. Clem pulled back, glancing around the room for a place to hide. The shower! She quickly stepped into the tub and hid behind the shower curtain, just as the door creaked open and Rebecca stepped into the room. She could only hope that the woman wasn’t planning on taking a shower.

“Damn it…” Rebecca said, her voice shaking. Clem pressed her back against the shower wall as Rebecca leaned down and began to drink water from the sink. “Just need to have this baby and... oh, God.” She stood up slowly. “Let it be okay and… let it be his.”

Rebecca sighed deeply, before leaving the room. Clementine let out a shaky breath. What did she mean by that? Clementine almost felt bad for Rebecca, even though she didn’t really know what the woman was talking about, before remembering that she’d been a very vocal member of the ‘kill Clementine’ club. Well, she’d have to get in line. Or not, Clementine figured, as most of the people who’d tried to kill her had ended up dead themselves.

She stepped out of the shower and up to the bathroom door, pressing her ear against the door again. This time, she heard nothing, and upon peeking out, nobody was there. She crept up to the final door in the hallway, her hand shaking in spite of her best efforts. Clementine slowly pushed the door open just slightly, but stopped as she heard a startled gasp.

Through the crack, she made eye contact with the girl from earlier. Carlos’ daughter. Sarah.


	3. Rose-Colored Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah contemplates the balance between doing what's asked and doing what's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the last of our pre-prepared chapters and the first non-Clementine POV in the story, released for viewing enjoyment and to hopefully keep up reader interest!
> 
> (Chapter written by: Sven)

**Chapter III: Rose-Colored Glasses.  
** _ “They show only the beauty, ‘cause they hide all the truth.” _

**Sarah.  
  
** _ (she needed help) _

When the thought sprang unbidden into Sarah’s mind, this time as she stood in front of the dresser mirror that dominated most of her room’s door-side wall and with her hand positioned on the zipper of her jacket (her favorite, cobalt blue and with the elasticated wrists she liked), she had long lost count of how many times it had done that in the hour or so since sunset. Sarah thought it might be a record. It certainly wasn’t the first time in her life that a single thought had become lodged in her mind and repeated itself end over end 

_ (like a broken record, people talk about sounding like a broken record but they have  _ **_no_ ** _ idea) _

but she couldn’t remember a time one had been so  _ insistent. _

She hadn’t been able to help herself. She had heard the others outside, arguing and debating and (in Nick’s case, at least; Sarah liked him a lot, as she liked all of their little group, but there was no denying that this was a talent of his) shouting and swearing, and her curiosity had simply been too great. Others often said that she was a quiet person, at least most of the time, but Sarah had barely needed to be quiet to sneak her way down the stairs and poke her head out the door, not when it sounded like the adults could barely hear each other over the sound of their own arguing. When she had done so, Sarah had seen Alvin, Rebecca, and Nick in the yard out front of the cabin, standing with their backs turned to the door, with Luke and Pete across from them, briefly conjuring an image

_ (battle lines) _

so unpleasant that she buried it immediately. Instead, Sarah had let her attention be drawn by the central thing: her father kneeling, as he had done so many times with Sarah herself before her teenage years had made her much taller, in front of a girl who had looked to be perhaps a few years younger than she was. 

Sarah had found, over her fifteen years, that she had an especially keen memory for two things: written information (reading was, always had been, and probably always would be the great love and fixation of her life) and sensory input. That second thing, she had come to realize, was often a mixed blessing; it was terribly uncomfortable, for instance, when it came to the texture of certain foods

_ (gravy-soaked biscuits, ew) _

or the sensation of certain sounds

_ (the others shouting at each other, double ew) _

but absolutely had its uses when it came to remembering recalling the lyrics of songs she liked...or filing memories away by their colors.

White-and-blue cap, white-and-gray sweater, bright purple tee, dark hair and skin. Sarah had noticed those things about the new arrival at once, and then she had registered another color: the dark maroon of drying blood, and a good deal of it, on the sweater sleeve stuck to the girl’s arm. Sarah’s father had been tending to that arm when she had spoken up, the starkness of the image before her giving her an uncharacteristic burst of initiative.

“Who is she?” she’d said. Sarah’s voice had always been soft, always been quiet, always been a little harder to hear, but her father had heard. He always did.

And so had the girl. For the briefest second, they’d even locked eyes, giving Sarah enough time to file away another color: bright amber-brown like autumn leaves.

“Sarah?” Her dad had risen to his feet then, the sigh implied in his voice even to Sarah’s ears. “What did I say? Stay inside.”

Sarah had, of course. Her dad had never in her life given her reason to question or disobey him, even when her curiosity got the better of her. But going back inside had done nothing to stop the wellspring of images, thoughts, and questions dancing and darting about her mind.

_ Who is she? Where did she come from? _ Unbeknownst to Sarah, she was the only one of their number not to immediately suspect the boogeyman who had been pursuing them the past few months.  _ Is she alone? Is she… _

“Okay,” that last word had almost been, but Sarah knew the answer to that. She had never been good with subtext, had always been even worse when it came to reading people, but blood spoke for itself. She hadn’t seen the wound, but really, had she  _ needed _ to see it?

And it had been that thought which brought to Sarah’s mind, as she was making her way back up the stairs:  _ She needed help. _

First time. Not the last. Far from the last.

Sarah let out a long, soft sigh, eyes fixated on her reflection as she removed her hand from the front of her jacket and smoothed it slowly through her hair instead. It was a motion as unbidden as the thought

_ (she needed help) _

that plagued her, one of a number of little gestures that eased her mind when it raced or took her away from the world when too much was happening all at once. Stimming, her dad called it. He had been the one who first noticed that Sarah wasn’t _quite_ like most kids her age, and he had been the first one to put a name to the why _._ _Asperger Syndrome_ , he’d called it (a term which came to Sarah as easily as the bright colors in her clearest memories in spite of its technicality), subset of _autism._ There was science behind it that she’d never quite come to understand, but the functional meaning of it, in the context of what it meant for Sarah herself, was relatively simple: she couldn’t stand certain textures and sounds, she never really knew what to do with sudden change, her relationship with eye contact was fickle at best, and people - most of the time - just _confounded_ her. On the other side of the coin, there were sensations that she loved (the feel and fit of her jacket, for instance) and she processed what she read almost effortlessly, a point which always seemed to delight her father. Once, Pete had put it in a way Sarah had especially liked: “Girl, you read like a starving man eats.”

A knock at the door next to her stopped Sarah midway through another slow, soothing pass of her hand through her hair

_ (she needed help) _

and made her start, but only a little. As soon as the specific sound of the knock registered with her, she settled; Sarah would have been hard-pressed to identify any other visitor by their knock, but this one had been a constant tune her entire life.

“Come in!” she answered, turning just as the door opened. Her father’s head poked in right on cue, silhouetted by a halo of orange candlelight from somewhere outside, followed by the rest of him. He didn’t look mad or even exasperated, in spite of Sarah’s momentary disobedience. That was good. It hadn’t been as nagging as the thought of the girl outside and how

_ (she needed help) _

she had been so visibly injured, but the worry that she had upset her father had been on Sarah’s mind nonetheless.

“Sarah?” No reprimand in his voice, either. Even better. “It’s getting on toward bedtime.”

“I know,” she said, meeting his gaze easily. For no other reason than her dad’s presence, Sarah felt her mouth quirk into a little smile. “Sun’s down.” Unbidden, her eyes shifted to one side, breaking their eye contact. “About earlier...”

Carlos shook his head, and Sarah knew at once that her minute gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed. Where Sarah had absolutely no mind for reading such cues, her father picked up on and saw right through them easily, especially when they came from Sarah herself.

“I’m not going to fault you for curiosity, Sarah,” he said, taking another two steps inside. “But what happened outside was not something you needed to see.” He paused. When he spoke again, Sarah finally heard annoyance or exasperation creep into her dad’s voice. “Or  _ hear _ , for that matter.”

Sarah flicked her eyes back up so their gazes met again, chancing another little smile. “Can’t account for Nick.”

“No,” Carlos agreed, inclining his head. The grimace left his face, and Sarah judged that he might just look a little amused himself. “We certainly can’t.” He took one final step forward and placed his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. She thought it almost a form of magic, the way that touch could make her feel instantly less anxious. “But it’s dealt with, sweetie. Alright? No need to concern yourself with it.”

Sarah’s eyes moved away again, finding her reflection nearby instead, and sure enough…

_ (she needed help) _

“I believe you,” she responded, not quite ready to make eye contact as she said it. “But...” Her right hand almost went to her hair, but she caught the urge and stopped it. Then, without even realizing it, she began plucking at the elastic cuff of her left sleeve instead. “Can I ask you something, Dad? I...”

Sarah trailed off, feeling her dad’s eyes on her. Whether they were appraising, regarding sternly, or something else entirely, she didn’t know. She thought,  _ Please don’t be upset. _

“Alright,” her father’s voice finally broke the silence, the word punctuated by a long sigh. He moved to the edge of Sarah’s bed, sat, and patted the space next to him. “But understand that there are things I would rather not answer.”

Sarah glanced up, nodding. “I know,” she said softly, approaching and taking her place at her dad’s side. “For my own good.”

“Right.” Carlos looked down at her, gently prompting. “What was your question?”

Sarah was quiet for a moment. Finally having this conversation - even if she knew that certain avenues of approach were likely to be a flat-out dead end - had quieted those three insufferable words stuck in her head, and it gave her space to consider her approach. At last, she glanced up and said, “That girl outside. Who  _ was _ she?”

Carlos sighed, looking at the wall. “We don’t know. Luke and Pete found her, but they don’t know any more than the rest of us.”

“Not with...” Sarah trailed off the last word, not even needing to add it. Even thinking Carver’s name was enough to bring all too clear an image

_ (tall, long coat, graying hair, eyes like ice) _

to her mind.

“No.” Carlos glanced at her, his eyes as reassuring as that one word. That was another thing that calmed her. “Thank God.”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed. “Thank God.” She paused, considered again, and finally added the last thing, “Then...will she be okay? She looked hurt.”

Her father was quiet for a while, just long enough to briefly make Sarah wonder if he was about to deem the subject closed. Finally, though, he answered: “We’ll know soon enough.”

Not necessarily a straightforward answer, but not necessarily a deflection either. It was...something, at least. Sarah suspected it was also about as far as she could push.

“Okay,” she said, glancing down at her hands, neatly placed in her lap. “That’s all.”

Carlos circled his near arm around her and pulled her tight. Acting almost instinctively, Sarah eased her head onto his shoulder, the anxiety which had been dogging her since she had looked out the front door giving way to a suffusion of relief. No matter how her father tried to keep it from her, Sarah knew full well that the world had gone all wrong, and so many people wound up so  _ very _ far from okay any more

_ (nick’s mom, nothing dad could have done to keep me from finding that one out) _

that Carlos’ very presence was a more soothing therapy than it had ever been. He was still there. Still safe. Still okay. God help her if he ever wasn’t, but for now?

For now, Sarah didn’t have to think about “if”.

“I’ll be back up soon,” Carlos said after a little while, his voice breaking the consoled silence above Sarah’s head. “Be ready for bed, sweetie.”

“I will,” Sarah agreed. “Thank you, Dad.”

Carlos chortled, the laugh softly rumbling both of them. “I couldn’t very well have made you unsee.” His unoccupied hand came to rest on both of Sarah’s, still folded in her lap. “ _ Te quiero con todo mi corazón, Sarah Emilia Mendoza _ .”

Sarah smiled and closed her eyes. “ _ Yo también te quiero, Papá _ .”

She felt him hug just a little tighter, just a little more snug. His right hand left her own and instead tapped, with a single finger, on the hinge of Sarah’s glasses. A pair of red horn-rims, they - alongside her blue jacket and a few other things - were just about Sarah’s most dearly-protected possession, for both sentiment and the sad reality that she couldn’t read for the life of her without them.

“Clean these before bed tonight,” Carlos said, more a gentle suggestion than an actual instruction. “Your spares too. It’s been a while.”

“Will do,” Sarah said, opening her eyes again. On further inspection, it  _ had _ been a while. “Before I start reading tonight.”

Her dad smiled at her (he wasn’t much of a smiler most of the time, even Sarah knew that, but he always made an exception when it was just the two of them), leaned in, and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. Then he stood, crossed the room again, and closed the door behind him as he left. Sarah watched her father leave, eyes following his tan flannel shirt all the way out, and only let her smile drop when she heard the door latch click safely into place.

When that was done, she turned her head to face the wood-paneled wall and thought.

_ So she’s a mystery. _ As the words crossed her mind, Sarah felt herself begin plucking at her sleeve again.  _ Not the worst thing she could be. Not at all. _ The phrasing her father had used when he answered her third and final question reoccurred to her, and she sensed her brow furrowing a little in thought.  _ And...we’ll see soon enough? What did you mean, Dad? _

The answer to that last one was also a mystery. Like a great many things in life - at least  _ this _ life - she supposed she would have to wait and see what it meant. Sarah didn’t much like it, not when the girl had been visibly hurt, but at least it was better than a solid no. More immediately, it had been a satisfying enough answer to slow the frantic pace of her thoughts, and that was a godsend if ever there was one.

_ Maybe, _ she thought, right hand finally pausing over her left sleeve.  _ Maybe if we wait and see and all turns out okay, she can come with us. It looked like she could use a group. _ The thought brought the smile back to Sarah’s face. Their group had kept to exactly the same makeup since they had left Howe’s

_ (a nightmare on its own, won’t do to think about it) _

and Sarah figured it would be nice to have a bit more company.

_ Especially to talk to someone younger. Feels like it’s been forever. _

Satisfied, Sarah rose back to her feet, once more crossing the small expanse of room between her bed and the dresser. Though the rest of the room was entirely her own, Sarah shared the dresser drawers with her father on account of the limited storage space in the cabin. She didn’t mind at all; they both had a place for their respective things and they were both meticulously organized people, so there was never any want for or conflict over space. Sarah tugged open the second top drawer from the right, idly undoing the zipper of her jacket as she did so, and easily located the small stash of books that traveled with her everywhere she and the group went. Just an inch or so away from them, she saw her spare glasses exactly where she’d placed them when they moved into the cabin.

“Aha,” Sarah murmured, plucking her spares from the drawer and placing them in front of her on the dresser. Another pair of horn-rimmed readers, these were black and considerably less jaunty than her primary pair, but they were still perfectly invaluable. Then, from her collection, she selected the book that had most recently drawn her attention ( _ The Colour of Magic, _ it was called, by Terry Pratchett) and laid that out as well. She would need a cloth from the bathroom to clean her glasses, but her nightly routine was going to take her there anyway, so that was no bother.

Sarah turned, about to shrug out of her jacket and leave the room to go about the rest of her routine-

And then the door creaked open.

Perfectly involuntarily, Sarah gasped and took a step back, the sound alone enough to make her start in surprise and the  _ implication _ of the sound being even worse. In the brief space of time between that gasp and realization, she had exactly enough time to think:  _ Can’t be Dad again. Not so soon. He’d knock. So would the others. Can’t be- _

And it wasn’t. As the door swung open enough to give her a visual, Sarah saw - silhouetted by the same halo of candlelight as her father had been - a picture-perfect memory. 

White-and-blue cap, white-and-gray sweater, bright purple tee, dark hair and skin.

Blood-soaked sleeve.

The girl from outside. Staring at her with amber-brown eyes

_ (like autumn leaves) _

as saucer-wide as Sarah’s own. As a touch of her panic drained away and cohesive thought began once more, Sarah’s mind helpfully paraphrased another saying of which Pete was fond:  _ Like a couple of deer in the headlights. _

In the piercing silence, she searched her racing mind for something to say.

“Y...You’re not supposed to be here,” Sarah finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. Part of that was deliberate. The other part was panic.

The girl, who Sarah could now judge to be maybe eleven or twelve, flicked her eyes briefly to the dresser, then to the table up alongside Sarah’s bed, and then finally back to Sarah again. She had time to think,  _ Searching. _ The girl raised the index finger of her right hand to her lips in a universal gesture. As she did so, she kept her left arm - the hurt one - drawn close to her body, as if to shield it. Then, in a soft voice no higher in volume than Sarah’s own, she said, “I know. No sound, okay?”

Sarah nodded, taking in a breath she hadn’t realized she had neglected. “No sound.”

She couldn’t say for sure, but Sarah thought she saw something soften in the goldish eyes staring her down. “Thanks. Can you help me?”

Sarah swallowed, feeling her eyes draw helplessly downward toward the maroon-stained sleeve stuck to the younger girl’s arm. Even now she couldn’t see the wound itself, but once more she hardly needed to in order to get the picture. Still...

“What happened to you?” Sarah couldn’t pull her gaze away to meet the girl’s, and for once it had nothing to do with the social inconvenience of eye contact.

“A dog bit me,” the girl responded, her own eyes not leaving Sarah. “Out in the woods.”

Sarah flicked her eyes up, just long enough for a brief meeting of gazes, and then moved it back down, transfixed on that ruined sleeve. To think it had looked grim enough at a  _ distance. _ “Not...one of them? A lurker?”

“No,” the girl said. Sarah could sense  _ something _ behind that word, but she didn’t know quite what. “Really.”

Again, Sarah shifted her eyes up. She detected no hostility or ill intent in her conversation partner’s voice and no dishonesty in her eyes. Sarah had never been good at reading people, but here she thought there was really nothing  _ to _ read. No subtext. Just...

_ (someone who needs help) _

“Can I see?” The question came out perfectly unbidden. “If, you know...you don’t mind.”

The girl considered. Then she took a couple of steps deeper inside. “I don’t mind.” She straightened out her bad arm (gingerly, Sarah noted), seemed to fight off most (but not quite all) of a wince, and drew back the sleeve.

Sarah didn’t quite  _ recoil, _ but she gave voice to another little gasp and thought she felt a touch or two of the color leave her face. What she saw under the girl’s sleeve wasn’t so much a clean bite as it was a big, tearing  _ gash. _ Sarah had seen pictures of similar injuries the few times she had managed to get a satisfactory look at some of her father’s medical textbooks, but seeing the real thing was multitudes uglier.

“Ooh,” she breathed, raising a hand involuntarily to her mouth. “Ouch. You’re gonna need to bandage that, like Dad does.”

The girl nodded, carefully tugging her sleeve back down. “I know. I just need something to clean it, and then I can get back outside.”

Sarah tracked her visitor’s gaze for a moment, then flicked her eyes to the dresser beside them. Her eyes fell upon the leftmost top drawer, the one her father used to store the medical supplies he didn’t carry with him in his bag, and she swallowed again. The thought of taking something,  _ anything, _ from his supplies didn’t sit well with Sarah at all, but the girl from outside was now  _ inside _ and...

Well, she  _ did _ need help, didn’t she?

“Okay,” Sarah murmured, meeting the girl’s eyes again. She took a step away, moving toward the far end of the dresser. “I’ll help you. Just...Dad can’t know.”

“Sure. Okay,” her visitor agreed, content just to watch Sarah as she went. “What will he do if he finds out?”

Taking what she thought might qualify as  _ too _ much care opening the drawer, Sarah regarded the supplies in front of her. There wasn’t much any more, but she knew they still had what was needed. “Well...he gets upset,” she said, bypassing a roll of tape and three tubes of antibiotic ointments in favor of two small plastic bottles toward the back of the drawer. One was opaque (she didn’t even need to read it; 99% rubbing alcohol was hard to mistake), the other brown. A red CVS label on the front read,  _ Topical Solution ISP. Hydrogen Peroxide. _ Bingo. “He says I should know better and that he loves me and just wants the best for me.”

For a moment, Sarah heard silence behind her. Then, “That’s...it?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said. She selected the second bottle, returned to her arm’s-length distance from her visitor, and offered it to her. “It’s the  _ worst. _ Here.”

The girl took it and finally cracked a smile. “Good. Thank you.” She glanced down, then back up again, and slowly the smile faded. “So...just so I know. How much will this hurt?”

Sarah tried not to grimace and failed. “On that?” she said, flicking her eyes down to indicate. “Uh. Lots.”

The girl glanced down at the peroxide bottle, a look crossing her face. “Great.  _ Super _ .” Not giving Sarah time to question it, she looked back up and added, “Still. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sarah chanced a smile of her own. It wasn’t particularly a big one, but hey, it counted. “I’m Sarah.”

Sarah figured the gesture must have worked, because the girl’s expression lifted a little itself. “I’m Clementine,” she said. “Clem.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door, then back. “Don’t tell anyone I was here, alright?”

Sarah shook her head. “No way. My lips are sealed.” Then, deciding it was a good way to emphasize it if nothing else, she put her right arm out and extended her little finger. “Promise. A pinkie swear is forever.”

Clementine regarded the gesture and cracked another hint of a smile, extending her good arm to reciprocate it. “Forever. Works for me.”

Sarah heard a clatter of dishes somewhere downstairs and drew back, eyes up on the door. Clementine did the same, coiling in on herself like a sneaking cat and turning toward the exit.

“Clem,” Sarah said, dropping her voice a notch further so as just to be audible. “Have somewhere safe?”

“Yeah,” Clementine responded, not looking back. “Outside. Thanks, Sarah.”

Sarah watched as she crept carefully forward, disappeared once more beyond the door, and quietly closed it behind her. As soon as she heard the bolt click home, Sarah let out a long breath, still-wide eyes fixated on the smooth wood of the door. The race of panic had mostly drained away from her now, but the  _ surprise _ of it certainly hadn’t. Moreover...

_ That was illicit. _ Not a word Sarah used often, or had much  _ reason _ to use often for that matter, but it seemed perfectly appropriate. Not only had she talked to the party’s mysterious visitor, not only had the girl been up here with her completely without the others’ knowledge, Sarah had  _ helped _ her. Stolen supplies from her  _ dad _ to do so, no less.

But it had been the right thing to do, hadn’t it? Clementine had needed help, hadn’t she? Sarah’s subconscious (now not yammering at her in the slightest) had certainly fixated on the idea, and the evidence bore it out.

For the second time that night, Sarah slowly raised her left hand to her mouth, but this time it was  _ far _ from being a gesture of surprise or disgust. She glanced sideward at the dresser mirror again and saw the perfect picture of a  _ conspirator _ staring back at her.

Sarah thought,  _ So,  _ **_sooo_ ** _ illicit. _

And yet - when she put the thought of her dad aside, at least - it was hard to feel guilty about it.

Sarah drew in a long, slow breath, the subsequent exhalation almost turning into an anxious laugh as it left her. It was all a little tough to process just yet, but what was done was done and she still had a nightly routine to manage. The night had been strange enough without putting that on hold, and if nothing else she needed to take care of it before her father came back upstairs to say good night.

Willing herself out of stunned, ruminating motionlessness, Sarah shrugged her jacket off and folded it neatly, placing it on the dresser alongside her book and spare glasses. Then she opened the door (catching herself glancing down the hallway like the lead of some absurd spy thriller immediately thereafter), made her way down the hallway to the bathroom, and tackled all of the essentials. After brushing her teeth, a process which she spent feeling a deep subconscious gratitude for running water, Sarah opened the medicine cabinet to return her toothbrush...and paused, intuiting something  _ just _ slightly off-kilter about the cabinet’s contents. She frowned, flicked her eyes down to the pincusion, and understood almost immediately. Most people, Sarah thought, probably wouldn’t have noticed the missing pin, but she had reason to suspect, didn’t she?

_ Oh, that  _ **_is_ ** _ gonna hurt. _ A pang of sympathy went through her, and not just for the fact that Sarah’s first impression of Clementine had been a good one.  _ Remember to clean that before you use it. _

Sarah placed her toothbrush neatly back in its dedicated place, closed the cabinet, and regarded herself in the mirror. For the time, the group lacked any actual hairbrushes or combs, so she used her fingers to comb back the out-of-place strands of hair she saw. Sarah knew it was a perfectly pointless effort when she was going to be asleep within the hour, but her routine called for it, and so she did it. When that was done, Sarah fetched one of the hand towels from the rack near the shower and returned to her room, gathering her glasses and  _ The Colour of Magic _ from the dresser and laying them out on her bedside table. Then she toed out of her boots (wonderfully cozy winter boots, actually, with fleece lining and all), plonked herself in bed, and reached across to the table to retrieve her spares-

And that was when the commotion started.


	4. Avalanche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick confronts the consequences of being reckless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're back! It's been a busy few months, but this project has been far from dead since July. Just sort of stalled, like the career of an underbooked wrestler. But progress is being made again, and hopefully we'll be back on a more regular schedule from this point forward!
> 
> (This chapter written by: Lily)

**Chapter IV: Avalanche.  
** _"If you wanna blame anyone, I would hope you'd start it right here with me."_

**Nick.  
**  
Nick sat on his bed, back hunched, glaring at the wall. This whole day had been fucking bullshit.

First, Rebecca had been acting like he’d pissed in her damn cereal this morning, giving him a hard time about not doing the dishes. Pete had backed her up with his whole “father-figure” routine, and Nick had felt cornered, so he’d gone outside to get some air before finishing his breakfast. He’d been a ways into the woods before he realized he was fucking starving, but there was no way he could go back yet, unless he wanted another earful from Pete. So he’d stayed out another half hour, keeping alert for any lurkers. Thankfully, the area seemed to be clear, and he made it back safe.

By the time he got back, though, breakfast had been cleared, and Luke had eaten his leftover oatmeal. He had been somewhat apologetic, but Nick had shrugged him off. It would’ve been cold at that point anyway. At least it’d been Luke and not Rebecca.

The rest of the day was spent cooped up inside, for the most part. He played a couple rounds of various card games with Sarah, Carlos, and Luke, and he did the _damn_ dishes after Rebecca badgered him about it for most of the day. In the afternoon, Luke and Pete went out to see if they could find a rabbit or a deer or something for dinner- they were all pretty tired of fish- and Nick took a quick nap.

He was awoken suddenly by a commotion outside, and found Pete and Luke setting a passed out kid on the ground.

They’d brought someone with a bite back to the cabin.

Nick felt a pang of anger at that. Luke and Pete, of all people, ought to know better. After what had happened to his mom, Pete’s sister, you’d think they’d have the damn sense not to let someone with a bite around their group. And then Pete scolded him for almost shooting the girl. She was bit, passed out, and suddenly she’s moving again, of course his instinct was to shoot her. If he’d done it before, back in the city… maybe his mom would still be with them.

He was still pretty sure they should shoot the girl- they’d be saving her the pain of turning, after all, and there was no way they were letting her go- not with Carver still at large. Still, it was an alright compromise. At least she wouldn’t be able to get to them when she turned.

He’d gone to his room, and not five minutes later, Pete had entered and given him one of his famous lectures. Nick had talked back, because of course he did. Pete was still treating him like a teenager who’d gotten drunk with Luke and driven around a cornfield all night, and not the adult who was just trying to survive. Trying to do the right things, so that nobody else he cared about died.

Nick was almost thankful when Carlos knocked on the door and told them that there was going to be a house meeting. Pete had sighed and nodded, leaving the room, but not before giving Nick one of those looks that was saturated with stern disappointment. Nick rolled his eyes at the door as it closed. Fucking Pete could save his lectures. Nick knew how to hold a damn gun.

He dragged himself out of the room as he heard people congregating in the kitchen. They mostly argued about the girl and Carver, but at the end, Pete brought up another topic.

“These past few days when I’ve been out, I haven’t seen too many lurkers. Then, today, we find the girl in a decent sized group of them. It could just end there, but… we’ve seen this before, back at Howe’s. When there’s a few days of quiet, the first lurkers you see aren’t gonna be the last.”

Luke frowned. “So what you’re saying is, if we’re getting out of here, we ought to do it soon.”

Pete nodded, and Carlos sighed. “Plus, with the possibility of Carver being onto us… we should leave within the week.”

Rebecca stood up quickly, and Alvin was almost immediately at her side. “I have to go to the bathroom,” She said, her voice sharp, and Pete nodded, resigned.

“Alright, meeting’s over. Get to sleep,” He said, and Nick had to keep from rolling his eyes at the older man. That was the voice he’d used when Nick came home from school with an average report card. All… authoritative and shit.

He did go back to his room, though, and got ready for bed. He’d brushed his teeth, put his cap down on his bedside table, and pulled off his shirt, tossing it on the floor, when he heard a commotion outside. He stiffened, listening. Yelling, coming from the shed, plus, what sounded like a struggle… shit. That fucking kid.

He grabbed his shirt off the floor and tugged it on, before grabbing his hat and rushing out the door.

Nick wasn’t the first one out. Luke, Alvin, and Pete had beaten him there. The door was open, revealing the girl, blood speckling her face. She was cradling her arm, and behind her was a walker that had taken a hammer to the skull and an anchor to the chest. Jesus.

“How the hell’d it get in here?” Nick asked, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

“Little girl’s tough as nails,” Pete said, clearly somewhat impressed.

“Are you alright?” Carlos asked, having just arrived.

“The shed should've been safe,” Luke frowned. It was true. He and Nick had checked the shed for holes as soon as they’d found the cabin. They’d found one, but it was pretty easy to patch up. The girl glared up at them.

“I could’ve died, just because you were scared of a little girl with a dog bite. Can I come inside now?” She asked, her voice shaking at the end. Nick glanced down, not wanting to look the girl in the eye. Instead, his eyes caught on the bite wound, which had been stitched. He frowned, but Luke spoke first.

“You patched yourself up?”

“Where’d you get that stuff?” Nick, and everyone else, knew where he’d gotten the supplies. She’d stolen shit from the cabin. Rebecca voiced his thoughts.

”Did she _steal_ from us?!”

”This doesn't change a thing. She hasn't done anything to us,” Pete said calmly. Rebecca shook her head angrily.

”Says the man _not_ carrying a baby.”

“Enough already!” Pete raised his hands.

”Guys, please,” Luke said, clearly tiring of the argument. The kid spoke up before the argument could continue.

“I did. I took stuff, and I’m sorry. I really am.”

Yeah, yeah. Save the goddamn puppy dog eyes.

Rebecca scoffed. “And you all think you can trust her…?”

“Goddamn it, don't even START! Any of you would've done the same if you were half as tough as this little girl. So just save it,” Pete said, balling his hands into fists. He only did that when he got really angry. Carlos sighed.

“Bring her in and I'll take a look at her arm,” He turned and headed back into the cabin. Nick and the rest of the group followed, and the dark haired man noted that Luke had waited for the girl. Of course he had.

“Damn lurkers sneakin' around out here… we better get inside,” Alvin said as they reached the door. Nick wondered what he thought they were doing. Going for a nice leisurely stroll?

That wasn’t fair to Alvin, though. He was just trying to fill the silence. Nick shook his head and followed Carlos into the kitchen.

Luke and the kid arrived a moment later, and Carlos gestured to one of the chairs by the kitchen bar. The girl sat and extended her arm, and Carlos spent a minute or so looking over the wound. Nick began to bite his fingernail, a nervous habit he’d picked up as a kid that he hadn’t been able to shake. If the girl was telling the truth, and it really was a dog… then he really had been an asshole. The kid had stolen supplies, but they also hadn’t really given her much of a choice. Nick shook his head. It felt like shit when he was wrong.

Luke paced the length of the kitchen, and Nick was about to tell him to stop and that it was bugging him when Carlos’s voice pierced the silence.

“This could hurt a little.”

“Ow!” The girl winced. Luke ran a hand through his hair. He’d always been soft for kids and animals. He and Nick used to do babysitting for a couple neighbors, and he’d always gotten along with the kids. Nick had felt weird around kids. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. He had just attempted to shoot the girl, after all.

“How's she look?” Luke spoke up, his voice betraying his worry and nerves. Carlos sighed deeply.

“Her suturing skills need some work, but otherwise I'd say she should be fine,” He said. Luke shifted.

“So it… it wasn't a lurker bite?” He asked.

“If it was, the fever would've already set in and her temperature would be through the roof.”

As Carlos continued to wrap bandages around the girl’s arm, Nick’s mind began to race. He’d almost killed the girl, and he’d been an asshole to her for no fucking reason, then? Damn it. He shook his head and left the room. He couldn’t stay in there with her, knowing that. Sure, he’d had reason to believe she was bitten - what were the odds of getting bitten by a damn dog in the middle of what Luke had described as a pack of lurkers? But still… he’d almost shot a kid for no reason.

He walked into his room, moving to close the door, before realizing that Luke was behind him. He took a step back and gave Luke a look.

“I get it, man. You don’t have to tell me. I fucked up again. Me and my fucking itchy trigger finger,” He said. Luke sighed, stepping into the room and closing the door softly behind him.

“I didn’t come here to lecture you, Nick. I understand why you did what you did. I mean, I didn’t believe it was a dog bite either. I wanted to, y’know, because she’s just a kid. And I wasn’t keen on the idea of locking her in a shed, but from where we were standing, it looked like she was bit. And with what happened… I understand you, man.”

Nick sighed, slumping back against the wall. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Luke gave him a small smile. “Of course. But, uh, Nick… Clem might not get why you shot at her. At least, not now. She doesn’t know you like I do, and from her perspective, you nearly killed her for no good reason.”

Nick groaned. “I’m gonna have to apologize to her, aren’t I?”

Luke nodded. “You probably should.”

“Damn it. You know I’m shit at apologies, right?”

“Better than anyone else.”

“Alright. Just making sure,” Nick smiled, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

“You scared to apologize to a little girl?” Luke teased. Nick gave him a look.

“I’d be scared to apologize to a bush, Luke.”

Luke snickered. “Yeah, that’s- that’s true. You ready to face her?”

Nick sighed. “Guess I better go out there at some point.”

Luke clapped Nick on the back. “You got this, man. Just… explain where you were coming from, but don’t let it be an excuse. You gotta actually be sorry.”

“Believe me, I am.”

“I ain’t the one you’ve gotta convince,” Luke said, guiding Nick to the kitchen. Just outside the doorway, Nick paused.

“You alright?” Luke asked. Nick shrugged.

“I need a second. Could you… go ahead and thaw her a little bit?” He asked. Luke nodded.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see what I can do,” He stepped into the kitchen, and Nick took a moment to prepare an apology. After thinking over the main points he ought to mention, he stepped back into the kitchen. Immediately, he caught the girl - Clementine’s - eyes. He shifted awkwardly in the doorway.

“Hey, look. Um, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for… well… for being a dick out there. I got kinda aggro and that was definitely not cool,”

“Nick's been known to go off every once in a while. Don't hold it against him,” Luke added helpfully.

“Yeah, I guess we all have our moments,” Nick said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You definitely had one out there,” Luke said, slightly less helpfully.

“You were just protecting your friends. I get it,” Clementine said. Nick relaxed slightly.

“I didn't mean to be so harsh. I just… we had a bad experience once,” He said, a pang of sadness and regret hitting him as he recalled that shitty night.

Clem looked up at him sympathetically. “What happened?”

Nick’s eyes were drawn to the ground, not wanting to go into further detail. Thankfully, Luke spoke up for him.

“Nick lost his mom. We took care of someone who'd got bit.”

“It was my fault. I-” Nick started, but Luke cut him off.

“It was no one's fault. We thought we could control it, but… we couldn't. And then she turned and his mom was standing right there and she got attacked… There was nothing we could do about it.”

Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. “Anyway. Hopefully you understand.”

Clementine nodded. “I do. Yeah.”

Nick took that as his cue to leave, nodding to her and Luke as he left the room. As he headed back to his own bedroom, he ran into Pete. He almost passed the man completely, but his uncle reached out an arm to stop him. He turned to look at Pete.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“Why don’t you take watch with me tonight,” Pete said. It wasn’t a question, but Nick nodded.

“Yeah. Sure,” He said, following Pete out onto the porch.

Pete leaned up against the railing, looking out on the night. Nick leaned up against the house, biting his thumb. Pete clearly wanted to talk to him about something. He waited for his uncle to speak.

“You’ve gotta keep your head on straight, boy,” Pete spoke finally. Nick nodded.

“Yeah. I know.”

Pete turned to face him. “Do you?”

Nick nodded firmly. “Yeah, I do.”

Pete looked him over for a long moment, before nodding. “Alright.”

Nick frowned. “Is that it?”

“Yup. I trust you to think before you act next time you’re scared. Hopefully, almost killing a little girl knocked some sense into you.”

Nick glared at the back of Pete’s head. “Listen, I know it was stupid, but if she had actually been bit-”

“You missed. If you ain’t thinking straight, you’re no help to anyone. Take a second to breathe, and use your goddamn head. You’re a good kid, Nick, but at some point, you’ve got to grow up.”

Nick didn’t have a response for that. The rest of their watch was spent in silence.


	5. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clementine takes stock and builds goodwill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Oh very dear it's been a while, hasn't it.
> 
> So, I really have no excuse other than an ungodly period of writer's block which was just recently dashed on the rocks by, well, all of the world we're apparently living in now. I take full responsibility for this, since I was quite literally stuck on this chapter for the better part of half a year while Lily was consistently writing like a champ. So, full apologies for the delay and I have no intention of letting it happen again, especially now that I (and apparently everyone else) have nothing but free time on my hands.
> 
> Six months later: enjoy!
> 
> (This chapter written by: Sven)

**Chapter V: Sanctuary  
** _ "Turn the light off, go to bed.” _

**Clementine.  
  
** As Clementine sat, in the midst of what maybe passed for a truce and trying to shake the unpleasant suspicion that this party’s doctor (Carlos, his name was Carlos and he had a way of making even the simple act of standing at the sink intimidating) was trying to glare a hole into her through the back of his head, she thought,  _ What a night. _

A silly thought, maybe. An understatement, for  _ sure. _ But it was also completely one-hundred-percent accurate. In the space of an hour, maybe two, these people had swung from helpful to suspicious, then from suspicious to hostile, then from hostile to...what was the word for it, even? Fractured? Whatever it was, they - or at least half of them - had made the circle all the way back to helpful again in spite of knowing full well what Clementine had done. She regretted and certainly didn’t like that her situation had come to stealing, but didn’t feel especially guilty about doing what she had to do to make it through the night - Christa had taught Clementine long ago not to be eaten up by that sort of guilt when it came to survival. She had apologized, though, and meant it, because these people certainly had a right not to be happy about what Clementine had done.

And  _ yet… _

When Clementine considered it, the only person in the house whose motivations hadn’t confused her at least once was the girl upstairs. There was something about her that was  _ odd _ , something that Clem couldn’t quite name, but not a single thing about Sarah had raised any of Clem’s alarms. Even now, with the girl’s father silently looming just a few feet behind her, Clem thought that Sarah was the one person she’d encountered over the course of the day who she held none of her current situation against...even if a part of Clementine’s subconscious dearly wished she had just gone off and found the damned peroxide somewhere else and saved herself this current sense of lurking doom. Clementine had learned to resolve and work her way out of dozens of threats and hostile situations over the past two years, but imminent fatherly wrath was  _ not _ one of them.

Still...it was worth it to have her arm bandaged and back in one piece. And confusing or not, the group she was with still seemed like her best prospect for shelter and necessities, especially now that night had fallen and the storm set in. Maybe Rebecca had it in for her (Clementine was, in fact, beginning to suspect that Rebecca had it in for every creature that walked the earth) and maybe she hadn’t exactly won Carlos’ favor, but Luke and Pete were still on her side and Nick had actually apologized to her, which was a lot better than she’d expected. The numbers weren’t perfect, but they had improved, and Clementine had long learned to appreciate small improvements.

_ Little by little, _ she thought. Her eyes moved up from her bandaged arm and the smooth hardwood of the table and found Luke, still seated across from her. He caught the look and tipped her part of a reassuring smile, but he looked almost as uncertain of the silence in the room as Clementine felt.  _ This might still work out. They’re not a perfect group, but maybe I can just stay long enough to get my bearings. _

But then she intuited that looming sense of disapproval behind her again and the cynical part of her mind helpfully provided her with a mental image of the sunless trees just beyond the cabin. That was followed by a repetition of what Clementine had thought the first time she’d had a good look at them:  _ Not out of the woods yet. _

On the heels of that thought, Carlos finally spoke up. His voice was stern and dour...which wasn’t much of a change to Clementine’s ears. She thought it might just be his default state. “Where do we stand, Luke?”

Luke looked up at him. Even though Carlos was still turned away from him, he shrugged helplessly. “Well, I’m all for letting her stay and I know Pete’s with me on that. I figure Nick won’t kick up much of a fuss now, either. Slim chance Rebecca budges, though, and Alvin ain’t about to fight her on it. So it’s down to you, Doc, but it’s either gonna be a tie or a pass.”

Clem heard Carlos sigh behind her. She’d come to know that species of sigh as being distinctly  _ adult, _ after all the times she’d heard it from Lee and Christa. “So I figured.” Clementine heard him move, and she turned her head just enough to watch Carlos as he ladled rice from a pan on the countertop into a bowl. She had just enough time to hope before he moved to the table and placed the bowl in front of her, with a spoon buried in the pile. “Here. Eat.”

Clementine met his eyes and nodded. Carlos’ (seemingly permanent) serious expression hadn’t changed much either, which Clem took as a decent enough sign. “Thank you.”

Carlos regarded Clem just long enough to give her the first twinge of that uncomfortable sense of being looked through. Before it could really take hold, he said, “You’re welcome.” Then, moving to the doorway as he did so, he added without glancing away, “Stay here with her, Luke.”

Luke nodded before Clementine had time to question that last part. “Sure. Making the announcement?”

“Not exactly.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Rebecca.”

Luke grimaced. Clementine could relate. For the first time, she actually found herself empathizing with the party’s doctor. Still, the fact that Carlos hadn’t disagreed or suggested that he was a vote against gave her hope. “Right. Gotcha.”

Carlos continued into the living room without further response, the old door creaking behind him as he pushed past. Clementine watched him leave, then turned her attention to the food in front of her, raising a spoonful to her mouth. From all she could tell, it was little more than plain rice (though she thought she detected salt and maybe even pepper, which made sense; those were things that never spoiled), but it was a meal fit for royalty as far as Clem was concerned. Those few bites of beans she’d managed at the campsite felt like they’d been years ago, and even those she didn’t much like thinking about.

Not when the tradeoff was a reminder of what she had done to Sam.

Clementine ate another bite without even really registering it or stopping to appreciate how hungry she actually was, then followed it with another. As she raised her spoon for the fourth, Luke’s voice broke the silence in the room. “Gonna leave a helluva scar.”

Clem looked up, met Luke’s gaze, and followed it down to her bandaged arm. It still ached badly and twinged like hell with certain movements of her fingers, but those were things Clementine was absolutely willing to take after the pain she’d felt cleaning and suturing the gash under her bandages. God, she’d seen  _ stars. _

“I don’t mind,” she responded, not looking back up. “Better than losing it.”

She saw Luke nod in her periphery. “You got that right. Scars are  _ way _ cooler than stumps.”

An image floated to the surface of Clementine’s mind, bright and clear, of Lee in the last hours of his life - ashen, strength failing, the remains of his arm bound up in blood-soaked bandages - and deep sorrow panged inside of her, so sudden and all-at-once that it stopped Clem right where she was, spoon half-raised. Even two years later, the thought of that final day was the one thing that still had that effect on her. God, if she hadn’t been so  _ stupid, _ and so  _ naive _ as to think there would be some fairytale ending waiting for her in Savannah…

If, if, if.

Coming in from some world far away, Luke spoke up again. “You okay, Clementine?”

Blinking, Clementine looked up. Judging by the look on Luke’s face - confusion mixed with concern - her thoughts had been more visible than she intended.

“Yeah,” she said, pulling herself back to the surface.  _ Here and now, Clem. _ “Yeah, I just...I had a friend who lost an arm.”

The look on Luke’s face shifted to a wince of regret. “Right. Sorry.” 

“You didn’t know.”

Silence, not quite comfortable or uncomfortable, came over the two of them again, broken only by the sound of the spoon in Clem’s hand tapping against the bowl on the table. Clementine was perfectly willing to allow it; it wasn’t necessarily because she didn’t like Luke’s attempts at conversation (awkward or no, they made a nice change from distrust and accusations), but more because her desire to avoid dredging up any more memories than she had to far outweighed any urge to be good conversation.

Besides, the food was good. Plain, but good.

“So, what’s your plan? Since you’re pretty much on your own and all.”

Clementine looked up again, swallowing a bite of rice and feeling a little touch of relief go through her for the timely change of subject. “I still need to find Christa. But I don’t really know where to start.”

Luke’s expression lifted. Like the stern seriousness that never seemed to leave Carlos’ face, Clementine thought that basic friendliness might just be Luke’s default. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here a while if you want. Heal up and figure things out.”

Clem cracked a smile. She felt a flicker of hope again, not quite enough for her to latch onto it with any certainty but still there. That was another nice change of pace. “Are you sure the others won’t mind?”

“Well, Rebecca will, but Rebecca minds everything these days,” Luke responded, matching her with a cheeky smile of his own. “Anyone else has a problem, they’ll just have to deal with it.”

Clementine glanced down at the pair of flickering candles illuminating the table, considered Rebecca, and thought,  _ So long as dealing with it doesn’t mean dealing with  _ **_me._ ** She dipped her spoon into the bowl again...and discovered only the bottom. Frowning, she glanced further down and confirmed her suspicions. Gone, just like that.

“Oh,” Clem said, realizing she probably sounded as disappointed as she felt. Luke gave her a sympathetic look.

“Think that was the last of it,” he said, not exactly helpfully. “Still, good while it lasted, right?”

Clem glanced up, opened her mouth to reply, and promptly closed it again as the sound of arguing drifted through the door. Well...not so much arguing. More one-sided shouting, actually, and when she really listened-

“And since the fuck  _ when _ do you just get to  _ decide _ for the rest of us?”

Rebecca. Coming closer by the second, too, by the sound of it.

“Speak of the devil,” Luke groaned, looking up at the doorway. Clementine did, too, just as Carlos pushed past the door again with Rebecca trailing right on his heels. A single word materialized in Clem’s mind:  _ Great. _

“For the final time, Rebecca, I did not make the decision.” Carlos moved to the sink again without looking back. He was being admirably reasonable, under the circumstances, but Clementine thought she could detect the sound of his patience wearing thin. “You know very well that that isn’t how we operate. The majority happened to go in favor of allowing her to stay here.”

“And you’re just going along with them? Are you fucking  _ crazy? _ ” Rebecca looked ready to carry on, but she cut herself off in favor of glaring at Clementine. “The fuck are you looking at?”

Clementine opened her mouth for a shot back (and oh, she had  _ plenty _ floating around in her mind; scorching verbal comebacks were just one of the many things Christa had passed on to her), but Luke - for better or worse - beat her to the punch.

“Jesus Christ, Rebecca, give it a rest already,” he said, rising out of his seat. Rebecca focused her death-glare on him instead, but Luke didn’t buckle the way Alvin had buckled. “I get it, alright? We’re on the run. We’ve gotta be careful. But you really think it’s worth your time, pitchin’ a fit about a little girl? What do you think she’s gonna do?”

“ _ Steal _ from us, for starters,” Rebecca countered. “Who the fuck knows what else. We still don’t even know if she’s with-”

“ _ Enough! _ ”

Carlos’ interjection was sharp and sudden enough to startle even Clementine. Not even really processing the instinct to do so, Clem snapped her head around to look at him, repositioning in her chair to do so. Her peripheral vision was enough to tell her that Luke and Rebecca had done the same thing, but Carlos himself barely moved, only turning his head fractionally to regard the two of them.

“She stays,” he said. He lowered his voice as he spoke, but his tone was cold and serious in a way that cooled the surge of relief that came with those two words. All at once, Clementine finally got it:  _ Maybe they vote, but he leads. He’s the one who keeps them in line. _ “We’ve all said our piece, and the decision was made. Now leave us. Both of you.”

Luke untensed, looking away. Something similar to the shame Clementine had seen in the forest came back to his face. “Alright. Alright.”

Only barely deterred, Rebecca interjected, “If you think-”

Carlos gave her a look so long and so dour, it might have made Clementine wince had it not been pointed at someone out for her blood. It worked, because Rebecca suddenly seemed to lose her head of steam. “Your input is no longer needed, Rebecca. Leave.”

Rebecca glared, seemed to consider challenging him, and finally thought better of it. Following Luke out, she turned toward the doorway, but stopped just long enough for one parting shot. Clementine didn’t need to watch her to know who her target was. “Watch your ass.”

Clem tried to hold herself back - God help her, she tried - but just couldn’t resist. She looked up, eyes following Rebecca out, and said, “Not very motherly, are you?”

Rebecca tensed, turned...and once more thought better of pushing her luck, instead voicing only an angry scoff before she shoved past the door. It creaked open, creaked back into place, and then stilled, leaving only Clementine, Carlos, and a deep silence in the kitchen. Whatever satisfaction Clem felt for finally managing to sneak in that parting barb was overmastered, once more, by that terrible sense of parental disapproval.

At least it didn’t mean she would be put out in the rain. At least there was that.

“I wish you wouldn’t have done what you did.”

Clementine almost flinched, but not quite. So the issue was finally raised, and while the tone behind Carlos’ words didn’t quite instill her with  _ dread, _ it wasn’t exactly something she liked, either. The best Clem could say was that it was a notch or two gentler than the taking-none-of-your-shit reprimand which had sent Luke and Rebecca off to parts unknown.

“I know,” Clementine said, her voice quiet as she turned around to look at Carlos from under her hat. She owed him at least that much, she figured. “But I was hurt and nobody was helping me.”

“Because we considered you a threat,” Carlos said, turning and meeting Clementine’s eyes. The look he gave her wasn’t necessarily a scowl (at least not a deliberate one; again, Clementine got the sense that his usual expression wasn’t a happy one), but it was stern enough to tell her that her current course of response was the right one. “Which you were.”

“No,” Clementine protested, though not as forcefully as she maybe would have liked. “I get why you thought that, but-”

“We put you in that shed out of concern for the safety of our loved ones.” Carlos crossed his arms, still regarding her with that painfully level stare. “And then you escaped and persuaded my daughter to help you steal from us.”

Clementine opened her mouth to protest that as well, but no suitable counterpoint came to her. She felt her gaze drop down to her muddy black Converse and her reply die before it could begin, feeling absurdly like a kid caught with one hand in the cookie jar. Christa had taught her to do what needed to be done and not to allow guilt to get in the way of it, but when Carlos put it  _ that _ way...

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” he went on, turning all the way so that the two of them were as close to face-to-face as they could be. “But so long as you stay with us, there are a few things you need to know about my daughter.”

Clementine glanced up, meeting Carlos’ gaze with some effort. “Okay.”

“She isn’t like you. Maybe you didn’t get that at first, but you’ll understand once you’re around her a while longer.” As she watched Carlos move to the window at the other side of the room, not quite pacing but moving idly, Clementine thought,  _ Actually I did. _ “Sarah has no idea how bad the world has become, and if she did, she would...cease to function.”

Carlos paused, giving Clementine just long enough to consider her interaction with the girl upstairs. She had been...well...more  _ innocent _ than Clementine might have expected from someone her age, living in what had become of their world. And naive? Definitely. But there had been something there which made Clem think, but absolutely not say,  _ She knows more than you think she does. _

“More than that,” Carlos went on, not looking away from the window as he spoke. “Sarah’s first instinct is to trust. She doesn’t question motives the way you and I might. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Clementine did. Maybe she had doubts about Carlos’ assertion of what his daughter knew, but Sarah had trusted her within the span of mere minutes. Clem held back a grimace; that was a dangerous virtue to have in times like these.

“I do,” she murmured. “I’m-”

“Dad?”

The sudden sound of a third voice cut across their spoken and unspoken conversation so suddenly, it almost made Clementine jump. She turned in her seat just enough to trace it to the doorway, but she already knew who she would see: Sarah, head lowered, moving hesitantly into the kitchen with the trepidation of a nervous woodland creature. Her jacket and shoes were gone (the latter of which certainly explaining why Clem hadn’t heard even a bit of her approach), but her bouncy red horn-rimmed glasses were still in evidence, making her dark eyes look all the wider and more sheepish.

“Sarah?” Carlos questioned, turning. He sounded surprised to Clementine’s ears, maybe backed up by a little concern. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Rubbing her right hand down her other arm, Sarah mumbled a response which Clementine could only make out thanks to proximity: “Heard shouting.”

Clementine glanced over in time to see Carlos straighten up and approach. “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing you said,” Sarah responded, a little more audible. She still didn’t look up as she said it, a perfect picture of the kid-in-trouble ruefulness which Clem herself had felt not too long ago. As she spoke, she moved a hand to her head and smoothed it through her hair in a way that made Clementine think Sarah wasn’t completely aware she was doing it. “Just, uh...Rebecca. She was pretty clear.”

Carlos sighed, long and deeply displeased. In spite of everything, Clem found that it was a surprising effort to keep herself from snickering, if only because she could relate.

“Of course she was.” Once more, he entered Clem’s frame of vision, allowing her to turn and see both of them. Sarah still had her head lowered, but she finally flicked her eyes up as her father came closer. “But it isn’t an issue now, Sarah. You don’t need to fret.”

Sarah’s eyes moved to the side, meeting Clementine’s, and Clem could read the conflict and worry on her face just as plain as day. The older girl almost looked like she’d paled a little out of anxiety, guilt, or both. All at once, Clementine felt a perfect certainty of what Sarah was about to do, and before Clem could open her mouth to stop her, she surely did.

“Don’t blame her, Dad,” she murmured, her voice so nervous it was almost a whisper. “I was the one who took your things.”

Carlos frowned. “Sarah?”

“It was me,” Sarah carried on, looking away again. “So blame me, okay? She came into my room, you know, by accident, a-and I thought...it just...it felt like the right thing to do.”

Clementine realized that her eyes had gone wide. Not comedically, maybe (she  _ hoped _ not comedically), but wide enough. She tried to say something, but nothing came to her. Exactly what response was the right one when someone you barely knew took a blow for you? For no reason, no less, than because they could? Maybe it was a small gesture in the grand, terrible scheme of things, but…

_ But it’s the first selfless thing a total stranger has done for you in years. _ Clem studied Sarah’s face, saw the anxiety there and heard the troubled rate of her breathing, and thought,  _ Even though disappointing her dad is the worst thing in the world to her. _

“I asked, Sarah,” she spoke up, abruptly enough to surprise even herself.  _ Guess I’m in this now. _ “I was the one who asked for help. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Could’ve said no.” Sarah swallowed, and Clementine heard her breathing pick up another notch. “I-I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry. I...”

Carlos bent, slipped Sarah’s glasses from her face, and pulled her into a hug. Sarah buried her face against him, and Clem could see some of the tension leave her shoulders. “Hush, sweetie. Deep breaths.” He sighed again, seemed to consider his options, and at last chose a perfect change of tack. “Clementine will be staying with us, at least for tonight. Do you think you could fetch a sleeping bag for her?”

Sarah drew in a long, slow breath, pulled away, and nodded, blinking as though she was emerging from some sort of daze. “Yeah. Under the stairs.”

“Under the stairs,” Carlos agreed, placing Sarah’s glasses gently on her face again. “She’ll be along after you as soon as we’re done talking. Then we can figure out where she can sleep.”

Sarah’s eyes met Clementine’s again, and Clem saw her brighten a little. Not much, necessarily (whatever troubled her had a slow upswing, maybe), but a little. “She could just use the floor of my room if she wants. After, you know, everything with the other adults.”

Carlos glanced Clementine’s way, then at Sarah, and then finally back at Clementine. She met his eyes more easily this time, even though doing so brought back that worrying feeling of transparency. At least she didn’t have much left to hide this time.

“My daughter makes a good point,” he said at last. “Would that be agreeable, Clementine?”

“It would,” Clem said, cracking a smile - more at Sarah than anything. Good grief, it was the  _ least _ she could do. “As long as nobody minds.”

“Nobody minds,” Sarah agreed, her eyes brightening just a tiny bit more. Carlos withdrew the single arm around her shoulders.

“Alright,” he said. “Go on, Sarah. We’ll only be a moment.”

Sarah nodded, turned, and slid past the door again. Clementine watched her go, still not quite believing what the older girl had done for her, before Carlos let out a long breath and spoke up above her.

“I suppose this is what I get for teaching her to live by good morals,” he said, a comment Clem suspected was more to himself than it was to her. She glanced up and they made eye contact. “Be that as it may...I want you to keep in mind what I told you.”

“I will,” Clem agreed, and she actually meant it. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” Carlos’ face softened, not into a smile but still enough to ease Clementine’s tension a little. “And you’re forgiven. Just be careful.” Finally he turned, moving back to the sink. Dishes, Clem suspected, at least what few they had. “Now go on. Sarah can take you upstairs.”

_ Not that I really need to be shown, I guess, _ Clementine thought, but once more did not say. The fact that these two were willing to extend the hospitality of  _ showing her upstairs _ marked a change in her fortunes that she wasn’t willing to compromise with the specifics of what all she had done that night.

“Thank you,” Clem said, more than just the offer of a room on her mind as she said it. It had taken a while and getting it hadn’t exactly been the neatest process, but Carlos and his people had, in the end, given her food, shelter, and medical treatment. Thanks were the least she could do, and currently also the  _ best _ she could do.

Pivoting to swing her legs over the side of the chair, Clementine stood, as she did so tugging her ruined sleeve down over her bandaged arm with only a faint twinge of pain, and finally moved past the creaking door herself. The light of the candles had lowered to a mellow flicker, just enough to see by, and the cabin had gone quiet - at least for the most part. Clementine could just make out the muffled sound of voices upstairs, surely those of Alvin and Rebecca, and the whistling wind and thrumming rain outside were still difficult to miss. Those things she didn’t mind, though; now that Clementine could be certain that she wouldn’t be put back  _ out _ in the stormy weather, the sound of it was calming, especially compared to the spirited exchange going on upstairs.

Recalling her limited mental blueprint of the house, Clementine glanced over her shoulder at the storage closet door. It was ajar and Clem could hear movement and rustling inside, which told her that Sarah was still rummaging around for sleeping bags. Approaching, Clementine poked her head inside, tapping the closet door with her knuckles so as to announce herself. It was both courtesy and common sense; picking when and when not to surprise people was another thing she had learned. Sarah started a little and looked over her shoulder, pausing dead in the middle of pushing aside what looked to Clem to be a collection of fishing supplies, but eased up when she realized who was in the room with her.

“Hi, Clem,” Sarah said, turning back to fuss with the fishing rods some more. If she was still on edge after her confession, that cheerful greeting didn’t give it away.

“Hi,” Clem returned, stepping inside. She found that her eyes were drawn, almost instinctively, to the shelves, where she saw what she could only assume was the lion’s share of the group’s supplies. It wasn’t necessarily much, but it was a far sight better than what she and Christa had been working with. The non-perishable food in here would last them at least two weeks, even taking their numbers into account. “Your dad and I finished talking, so I thought I’d come find you.”

Sarah didn’t turn around, her focus all on the one thing, but she nodded her response. “I’m almost done here, I think. Maybe.” She moved the rods out of the way, looked, and made a contemplative noise. “I swear, everything moves so often.”

Clementine watched Sarah straighten to her full height as she looked up at a top shelf, noting that the older girl wasn’t necessarily tall by the standards of the rest of her group...but still had a good many inches over Clementine herself. That happened a lot. All the time, actually.

“Sarah?” Clem spoke up, just before an awkward lull could take hold. She fought an urge to look away as she did so, writing it off as a silly thing to do when Sarah’s back was turned. “You didn’t have to do that for me. Back in the kitchen, I mean.”

“Sure I did,” Sarah responded, stretching to rummage through the shelf she had been eyeballing as she did so. There was no hesitation; the response was so matter-of-fact, she might have been talking about a change in the weather. “You asked me, but I did the deed. A- _ ha! _ ”

Clementine thought,  _ I don’t know if that’s really how guilt works, Sarah. _ But she didn’t question or comment on it. Instead, she said, “Well...thanks.”

Sarah turned, smiling brightly and extending a purple sleeping bag Clem’s way with both arms. “You’re welcome. Here. Might be a little big, but at least it matches your shirt.”

Clem took it, quirking a smile of her own. It was, on examination, a little big, but she didn’t care. Didn’t give a damn, in fact. Compared to sleeping on the ground, it was a bed fit for a king as far as Clem was concerned. “I’m not complaining, trust me.”

“I’ll bet,” Sarah agreed, nodding. She sidled past then, moving to the door. “Come on. I’ll show you upstairs.” She paused as if stopping to consider that. “Not that I really  _ need _ to...?”

The last part was so casual and so close to a verbatim read on her own thoughts that it nearly made Clementine snort laughter. She followed Sarah out, once more, into the dimly flickering light of the living room, tailing the older girl to the stairs and immediately noting the silence she heard. Rebecca had finished airing out her endless supply of frustrations while Clem and Sarah were talking, it seemed, and now the cabin truly was perfectly silent other than the driving of the rain outside and the occasional distant rumble of thunder.

As Clem followed Sarah up, further noting every creak of the stairs as she did so in spite of her safe surroundings, she began to process just how tired she actually was. Some nights - typically the hungry ones and the nights Clem found herself thinking more about Lee than usual - only brought Clementine dread when she considered the thought of sleep, but tonight was not one of those nights. Between the dog and her escape and the entire ensuing ordeal with the people whose company she was in now, every part of Clementine’s body practically ached with exhaustion, and she decided that now was as good a time as any for a rare night of actual rest.

_ And I’ll be able to think more clearly. Get my bearings. Decide what to do. _ Clem’s mind helpfully provided her with a vividly clear image of Christa as she and Sarah reached the top of the stairs.  _ That’s still the most important thing. _

Sarah led her through the last door at the end of the hallway and once more into her room, which stood barely changed since the last time Clementine had seen it.

“You can set up by the wall,” Sarah commented as they entered, taking a few steps past Clementine and depositing herself on her bed. She indicated the space between it and the door-side wall with a glance. “That way you won’t be disturbed if someone needs to get into the dresser.”

Clementine shifted her eyes down to the empty space and thought,  _ Rather not be cornered. On the other hand, it only leaves one direction to watch. _ Then she blinked, her tired mind briefly wondering exactly where  _ that _ had come from, before she answered her own question. It had come from Christa. Christa, and the world that had gone crazy all around her.

“Works for me,” she finally said, turning a quick glance back up to Sarah as she bent down to unfurl the jaunty purple sleeping bag. “When do you think everyone will want me up?”

It was Sarah’s turn to blink, seemingly not having taken that question into consideration. “I mean, I guess it depends. Usually I’m awake a little after sunrise, so maybe then. Why?”

Clem thought of Lilly, then of Christa, and the sleep cycles she had become so used to over the course of two years, regimented to maximize use of the daylight hours. The thought of setting that aside even for a night seemed positively unheard of at this point.

“Just want to go by the group’s schedule,” she said, deciding not to complicate it any more than that. “You know. After everything.”

Sarah seemed to consider it, then nodded, eyes not meeting Clementine’s own and instead watching her smooth out the bedroll. “I get it. But don’t worry too much about it, you know? I don’t think anyone will fuss about it.”

Clem thought,  _ Best not to take the chance. _ Then,  _ And Rebecca would.  _ Before Clementine could voice an actual response, Sarah’s eyes lit up with a realization and she exclaimed, “Oh!” She slid from the bed, reached under it, and produced a pillow, which she offered Clementine’s way after a moment of dusting it off. “Here. Nearly forgot you’d need one of these.”

Clem’s eyes went from it, then to the bedroll, then back, then up to Sarah’s as she took the pillow from her. “You know, I kind of did too. Wow.”

Sarah laughed. She straightened and sat on the bed again. “Tired minds forget alike?”

“Tired minds,” Clem agreed, cracking a smile at her in that brief instance of eye contact. She thought it might have been the reception from the others talking, but she found Sarah very easy to get along with, oddness and quirks be damned. “Thanks.”

Sarah smiled right back. “Sure.” Then her eyes shifted away to the bedside table. “I’m gonna read a bit before bed. Hope that won’t be a bother.”

Clem shook her head. “It won’t.” She rose just enough to toe off her muddy shoes, then knelt once more and slid into the mouth of the sleeping bag, situating the pillow behind her. She cast one last glance up at Sarah, who had already moved her legs up under the covers of her bed. “Well...night.”

Sarah returned the glance just momentarily. “Good night.”

Clementine took just enough time to remove her hat and place it tidily alongside her Converse. Then she slid into the warmth of her bedroll, eased her head against the pillow, and closed her eyes.

She had exactly enough time to think, one final time,  _ What a night. _

And then exhaustion took her, and she was gone.

* * *

When Clementine opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was a long bar of dim, steely sunlight down the paneled wood wall next to her. Groggy though she was, Clem was able to deduce two things from it: that the sky outside was still cloudy, and that it was  _ definitely _ past sunrise. She groaned, blinking herself into full waking, and rose up on her elbows, thinking,  _ Yeah. Schedule. Great job, Clem. _

Glancing around, Clementine was able to determine two more things: that she was alone in the room, and that Sarah had evidently been awake long enough to make her bed to neat completion while Clementine was asleep. Hoping very fervently that the older girl had been right in her judgment that the others wouldn’t care if she slept in, Clementine slid out of her bedroll, retrieved her hat and returned it to its rightful place on her head, and slipped her shoes back on. Instinctively, she searched her surroundings for her backpack - and then remembered the events of the previous day, and that there  _ was _ no pack to be found. The realization was enough to bring Christa to her mind all over again, the one companion - for all her faults and all of their many disagreements - who Clem had reliably been able to count on for the past year.

_ Have to find her. Have to. _

Before she could let the thought become a preoccupation, Clementine willed herself out of it and left the room, once more crossing the hallway outside and descending the stairs to the cabin’s first floor. By the sound of it, the rain and wind had quieted sometime during the night, and now all Clementine could hear was the indistinct sound of muffled conversation from the direction of the kitchen. She could detect two distinct voices, and neither of them sounded like Rebecca to her, which was a good start to the morning for a whole number of reasons, as far as Clem was concerned.

“Well, rise and shine,” Pete greeted her as she came into the kitchen. He was stood at the other end of the room with a rifle slung over his shoulder, and across from him - looking out the window as he had been the previous night - was Carlos. Clem figured it had been their conversation she had walked in on. “Sleep well, young lady?”

“Uh,” Clementine started, mentally weighing the benefits of bringing up how late she’d woken. On the one hand, Pete certainly didn’t seem to care much, but on the other, she wanted to keep up her goodwill. In the end, she erred in favor of the second thing. “Yeah. Sorry I slept in.”

Pete chuckled. He moved over to the table and placed a bowl in front of one of the chairs. “Day you had yesterday, I woulda been surprised if you didn’t. Pull up a seat. Saved some breakfast for you.”

Clementine smiled, breathing an internal sigh of relief and a bit of an external one, too. Goodwill maintained, apparently. Moving herself into the chair in question, she said, “Thank you.” Then she looked across the table and her waking mind finally processed Sarah’s presence at the other end. The older girl’s eyes were locked on the pages of the book in her hands ( _ The Colour of Magic, _ read big yellow letters on the red cover) and her blue-and-white jacket was once more in evidence. “Hey, Sarah.”

Sarah looked up, blinking as if emerging from a daze. Clementine couldn’t help but feel a bit of remorse for having snapped her out of what had obviously been deep focus. “Oh! Good morning, Clementine.”

As Clementine started to work on breakfast (oatmeal with dried blueberries was the order of the day), Pete went on. “Glad you’re up, anyway. I’ll be goin’ out with Nick to check the fishing traps downriver, and I think I’d like you to tag along. Doc here agrees.”

Clementine looked up at him, just finishing a bite, and thought about that. To her, it sounded like as good an opportunity as any to build trust and improve her standing with the group. Besides, she knew she’d feel completely out of sorts just doing nothing at all.

“Sure,” Clem agreed. “I’d like to help.”

“You know, I figured you’d say that,” Pete commented, cracking a smile her way. “Mighty agreeable of you, Clementine. We’ll set off once you’re done.”

Clementine did just that, in the end deciding that, while the oatmeal was more enjoyable to eat than the previous night’s rice on the balance, both of the meals she’d been given since being brought into the cabin were among the best she’d had since the world went crazy. As Clem finished her last few bites, Nick joined the three of them in the kitchen. He was once more armed with his hunting rifle, which didn’t exactly fill Clementine with confidence, but he at least greeted her with an amiable enough nod.

“Right, I think that’s us set,” Pete proclaimed, giving his nephew a visual once-over. He turned his eyes to Clementine. “You good to go, young lady?”

“Yeah,” Clem agreed, slipping from the chair. She looked at her companions’ weapons and felt...satisfied. It was a lot of gear for what was supposed to be a simple trip out to check fishing traps, and that made her feel considerably safer. “Ready.”

Pete nodded, turning for the door. “That’ll do it, then. Back in a bit, Doc.”

Carlos, still watching out the back window, gave one inclination of his head. “Be careful.”

“You know it.”

Pete went out, followed by Nick. Clementine went last, but not before shooting one last look over her shoulder through the door, deciding to check one last box before she left. “Bye, Sarah.”

Sarah looked up at her again, tipping a little wave with the hand not holding her book. “See you, Clem.” Clem thought she saw some kind of deeper awareness in the older girl’s eyes when she added, echoing her father, “Be careful.”


	6. All Good Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing goes to plan for Nick and Clementine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one for the enjoyment of our reader base! I'm hoping to have a posting streak!
> 
> (This chapter written by: Lily)

**Chapter VI: All Good Things  
** _ “Honestly, what will become of me?” _

**Nick.  
  
** Nick jogged to catch up to Pete and Clementine. He’d paused for thirty damn seconds to take a leak, and the two of them didn’t bother to wait up. Well, he didn’t really blame Clem. She was probably just following Pete’s lead.

“Hey! Why didn't you wait?” He asked as he fell into step next to them.

“You want us standin' around while you piss on a tree? You know where the river is, boy,” Pete shrugged. Nick shook his head and trained his eyes on the ground. As much as Nick hated to admit it, Pete was right.

“Anyway, so I grab the gun out of his hand before this big buck runs off when BANG! The gun fires. Boy nearly gut shot me. And of course the buck gets away,” Pete said. Nick recognized the story and glared at his uncle.

“What're you goin' and tellin' her this shit for?”

“Cause you almost blew her face off yesterday. Seems relevant. Tryin' to let her know it's nothin' personal with you,” Pete said, almost smugly. Nick huffed.

“Why are you always giving me a hard time?” He asked. Pete shrugged.

“Because you're always givin' everyone else a hard time.”

“I apologized already. She accepted.”

“Okay, well, I didn't know that,” Pete said.

“It's fine. He apologized,” Clementine spoke up for the first time. Nick appreciated it. She ‘d been forgiving and understanding so far, despite the fact that he’d nearly killed her the night before.

“You're always trying to embarrass me,” He said to Pete, crossing his arms over his chest. Pete shook his head.

“You're doing a good enough job of that on your own,” He said. God, he was infuriating. Nick picked up his pace to pass them. Pete called ahead to him.

“Leavin' us again?”

Nick shook his head angrily. “I know where the fucking river is!”

What did Pete know? He acted so fucking smug and self-important. The old man said he was only looking out for Nick, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. What it felt like, actually, was that he’d jump on Nick for the smallest shit. If anyone else was giving Nick a hard time, Pete would give them a hand and give him a harder time. That didn’t feel like help to Nick.

“Uncle Pete!” He shouted. He heard heavy footfall behind him, and soon, Clementine 

He made it out to the riverbank more angry than he’d been when he’d stormed off, but as soon as he saw the state the bank was in, all of that dissipated. In that moment, all he could think to do was call for Pete.and Pete were at his side.

“Nick…? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

Pete had said it.

The riverbank was covered in dead bodies. Pete took a few steps toward one of them, reaching out and tentatively poking it with his rifle. Nick tensed, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

“Full of holes,” Pete called over his shoulder. Nick relaxed slightly.

“Who do you think did this?” Clementine spoke up. Nick tensed, his mind racing. There was only one guy he knew who’d do this kind of shit.

“Not sure yet. But it ain't your average gang'a thugs, that much I know,” Pete spoke. Nick frowned, turning to look at his uncle.

“Think about it. You're Carver, what do you do?”

“Who's Carver?” Clem asked nervously. Nick and Pete shared a glance. Nick could tell Pete wasn’t keen on bringing up Carver, and he could get behind that. Pete sighed.

“Check those guys there. Be careful. Some of 'em might still be movin',” He said. Nick moved to inspect the bodies.

As he looked around, he heard Clem and Pete’s conversation, but tuned them out in favor of listening for any sign of lurkers. The bodies he poked were unresponsive, thankfully. He was glad not to have to tangle with any more of them than necessary.

A few moments later, Clementine walked up to him. “Can I help?”

Nick shook his head, not tearing his eyes away from the body he was checking on. “I got it.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Clem asked. Nick scoffed.

“Ask my uncle. He knows everything,” He said, and sensing the girl was about to ask something else, continued, “I said I got it, okay?”

After that, the girl left him alone, inspecting another body.

“This one's shot too,” She said. Pete shifted to look at her.

“Through the head?”

“Yeah…”

“Check the rest. And look for ammo. We're runnin' low,” Pete spoke. Nick watched the girl make her way across to a small sandbar, before he moved on to the next body.

“There're more out there!” Clem called. Pete sighed knowingly.

“This wasn't no rinky-dink pissin' match,” He said. Nick narrowed his eyes and spoke challengingly.

“What was it then?”

“FUBAR,” Pete responded, heading across the bank. Nick blanched.

“Where are you going?! We need to get the fuck outta here!” He called. Pete shook his head nonchalantly, not bothering to pause.

“Gotta check the rest.”

“What? Why?!” Nick said, incredulous. What the hell was Pete thinking?

Pete continued to wade across the river unbothered. “Calm down and think about it, son.”

And Pete was telling him to get his head on straight.

“Calm down?! We've gotta get out of here, now.”

“Jesus Christ, get ahold of yourself,” Pete said, his voice conveying a fair amount of judgement. Oh, fuck Pete and his condescending attitude. He wasn’t Nick’s fucking dad.

“Nick's right. This doesn't look good,” Clementine backed him up. Yeah, okay, maybe the kid wasn’t that bad. She had more sense than his uncle, at least.

“No, it don't. But one of these folks might still be alive, and they might just be inclined to tell us who did this,” Pete said. It made a bit of sense, sure, but he’d rather they just got the hell out of there. Lot less risk to that. “We gotta do this now. Stay here. Keep searchin' these.”

Nick shook his head. “This is a dumb idea.”

Pete sighed deeply. “You know, Nick, I don't like this either, but sooner or later you're gonna have to realize a simple truth.”

“What? That you're an asshole?”

“That nobody in this world is ever gonna give a goddamn whether you like somethin' or not. You gotta grow up, son,” Pete said. Yeah, Nick was about done with Pete’s so-called words of wisdom.

“Whatever.”

“Come on, Clem. You wanna be useful, keep a lookout on that treeline. Whoever did this might still be out there. Waitin' for another sucker to stumble across this mess. Just like baitin' a fish. It's what I'd do,” Pete said. Clementine nodded.

“I'm on it.”

Pete smiled, clearly amused. “You always so agreeable?”

“No.”

“Good. You'll fit right in with this outfit,” Pete said, and Nick had to keep himself from smiling at that. As much as he was pissed at Pete right now, that was probably the best way of summing up their little group he’d ever heard. Pete continued. “Look, just keep your head on straight.”

Nick made his way down the river a little, checking on the bodies and finding more of the same. By the sheer scope of it all, it was clearly a show of something. Strength, intimidation… well, it worked. Nick had to admit, he was pretty damn intimidated right now.

The more he thought about it, the more he considered the possibility that it had been Carver. Nick shuddered in spite of himself. That son of a bitch scared him more than he’d ever let on. Some of the shit he’d done… the shit he’d asked the rest of them to do… it was more than fucked up. This attack had his name all over it.

He was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a gunshot to his right. Nick’s head snapped up, and he saw a walker dead at Pete’s feet. Forgetting his frustration with the older man, he called out.

“Pete!”

“I'm fine, I'm fine! Just...just lost my footing! Damn it… goddamn it…” Nick glanced away from him and caught sight of lurkers closing in. Shit, they’d probably been attracted by all the noise they’d just made.

“Shit! Lurkers!” He called. Pete cursed.

“I'm outta ammo!”

“Come this way!” Nick called. The lurkers closed in.

“Son of a bitch… Damn it, you get your asses over here, both of you!” Pete called to them. Yeah, there was no fucking way that was happening. The lurkers were already practically on top of them.

“I'll cover you! We gotta get out of here!” He shouted.

“Get over here, goddamn it!” Pete shouted. Nick shook his head, frustrated.

“Can't you listen to me once? Just one time?! I've got ammo!”

“Listen to me, damn it! I see a way out!”

“I'll cover you!” Nick insisted.

“I’ve got a clear path over here, goddamn it!”

Clementine ran through the river and to Nick’s side, but that wasn’t what Nick was focusing on. All he could see was Pete, that stubborn bastard, with lurkers closing in on him.

“Nick!” Pete called.

“Pete!”

“Nick!”

Nick finally gave in and ran back toward Pete, pulling out his rifle and shooting several of the walkers.

“Pete...! No...!” He shouted. Despite his best efforts, the lurkers were closing in faster than he could take them out.

“Jesus! Fuck!” Pete cursed. Nick aimed for one of the walkers, but as he pulled the trigger, nothing happened.

He was out of ammo.

Nick could do nothing but watch as one of them got to him, sinking its teeth into his arm. Pete shoved the bastard off of him, took one last look at his nephew and Clementine across the river, and took off into the woods.

Damn it. God fucking damn it.

“Pete…! No!” He called into the woods. The lurkers turned their attention to him and Clem. The younger girl tugged at his arm.

“We have to go!” She insisted. Nick shook his head.

“You could've saved him… How could you just leave him…?” He asked, but he didn’t really blame the little girl. After all, if he hadn’t been so goddamn stubborn…

“There’s no time for that, we have to go now!” Clem said. Still in shock, Nick followed the younger girl into the woods. His adrenaline was pumping as they tore through the trees, but mostly? He felt numb. All he could think about was that lurker getting to Pete - Pete who was always telling Nick he’d get himself killed. And yet Pete, that stubborn bastard, had gone out before him. Goddamn it.

“Quick! Over here!” Clementine called, and Nick whipped his head around to see what she was referring to. A small wooden shed situated in a small clearing. The two of them ducked into it, lurkers hot on their tails.

He and Clem pushed up against the door just as the lurkers reached it, struggling to hold it closed. With a shove, Nick was pushed away from the door, before he turned back and rammed his shoulder into it. Clementine turned to look at him.

“Nick! Find something!” She called. Nick stood up straight and left the door, taking his time as he looked for something to keep the door closed. If a walker got it… well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen, Nick figured. After all, he was a fucking screw-up, and Clementine seemed like she could hold her own, so it’d be a challenge for her or something. If she made it out of this shed by herself, well, she deserved a medal or some shit.

“What are you doing? Nick?” Clem called. Nick ignored her.

His eyes caught on a crate pushed up against the wall. He took a deep breath and shoved it up against the doors, before slumping back into a chair.

“I'm sorry about Pete,” Clem spoke. Nick shrugged.

“Whatever…” He bit his thumbnail. “Why'd you leave my uncle, back at the stream? Why'd you follow me?”

Clementine frowned. “I trusted you.”

Huh. That was new. Nick shook his head.

“Well, that was stupid.”

Clem frowned. “What do we do now?” Nick shrugged.

“I don't care.”

“If we're stuck here, we should at least look around. Maybe we can find something to help us get out of here.”

“Knock yourself out.”

As Clementine poked around, Nick stared at the wall. Pete was an asshole, and despite how he’d insisted he was always looking out for Pete, Nick was pretty sure some of the shit he’d done and said did more harm than good. Still, overall… Pete had been more of a father to Nick than anyone else in his life. And sure, he hadn’t done the greatest job, but he could’ve done far worse.

And when it came down to it, Nick hadn’t been there for him. His stubbornness had gotten Pete killed.

“Nick, you want to give me some help here?” Clem called. Nick didn’t bother giving her a reply.

“Are you listening to me?”

Nick said nothing.

“Fine. Just sit there.”

A moment later, Nick watched as Clementine shifted a piece of plywood, revealing a shelf stocked with jars. Nick perked up slightly.

“What is that stuff? Let me see,” He asked. Clementine grabbed a jar and handed it to him. His hands were barely shaking as he twisted the top off and smelled it. Didn’t smell poisonous, but it did smell pretty damn alcoholic. Perfect. He took a sip and grimaced as it hit the back of his throat.

“Whiskey,” Nick said. He took another sip.

“Now what?” Clementine asked.

“Oh, fuck if I know. We wait, I guess.”

Clementine dropped down to the floor and closed her eyes. Shortly after, her breathing evened out. Nick finished his jar of whiskey. He stood up to grab another, and sank to the floor next to the shelf.

After a while, he’d lost count of how many jars he’d gone through. He wondered what Pete would think if he saw him now. What his mom would think. He grimaced and threw the jar he was holding at the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crash. He reached for another and threw that one, too. Then he took another.

Clementine stirred across the room from him. Nick ignored her as she walked over to him.

“What's your problem?”

Nick didn’t say anything, merely picking up another jar and throwing it at the wall. He reached for another, but stopped. His arm dropped to his side and he sighed.

“I had to kill my mom. That sounds weird when I say it out loud, huh? Luke always used to push me. I never wanted to go into business with him. I remember when he sold me on it. His big plan. Some fuckin' plan. A case of beer in, he just said, ‘Nick, we're burnin' daylight.’ And that was that. After six months, we were flat broke. But I didn't care. We were havin' fun,” Nick took a sip of his whiskey. “I wish I was like him. I wish I could just keep movin' all the time. But I'm just not… built like that. Everyone I grew up with. It all… happened to them. And now it's going to happen to us. We're all so fucked. This whole world is fucked.”

“You're right,” Clementine said, sounding a lot older than her years. Nick shook his head.

“It's a nightmare. We live in a fucking nightmare,” He shifted. “I mean, what's the point? We'll just march to some new place and somebody else will die. It's never gonna stop. And eventually it'll be our turn. I can't believe we've been here a day. A day! It's been a day, right? Hey, kid. Have a drink with me. It's gonna be your first and your last.”

He extended the jar to Clementine. Sure, that probably qualified him as a bad influence, but he honestly didn’t give a shit. Clementine took the jar, looking at it suspiciously. Nick tilted his head back.

“To Peter Joseph Randall, the nicest mean old bastard I ever knew,” He said, picking up another jar and twisting it open. He clinked it against Clem’s jar, before taking a long drink.

Clementine coughed and handed the jar back to him. Nick couldn’t help cracking a small smile at that. He remembered his first drink with Luke, in the back of Pete’s old truck that they’d borrowed without asking. Then, his mood soured. Luke. If their group were gonna find them, they would’ve been here by now. He looked at Clementine.

“Listen. They're not comin' for us. You should go. Run for it.”

The girl looked incredulous. “Wh- what are you going to do?”

Nick sighed, closing his eyes. “Stay here. I'm tired. Go find Luke. And the rest. They'll take care of you. They're good people. Better than me.”

Clementine sighed.”I knew someone like you. He was always screwing up too.”

Nick frowned. “Screwin' up? I didn't ask for any of this.”

“Nobody does. But so what?” Clementine said. She sounded a hell of a lot like Pete in that moment. The old man’s tough love must have rubbed off on her. “Come with me.”

“Are you kiddin'? And leave all this?” Nick said sarcastically.

“You can't just sit here and die,” Clem insisted.

Nick shrugged. “Why not? What does it matter?”

“You still have Luke, and everyone else. They're family. Nick. I need your help. Please,” Clementine said. As much as he wanted to just… stay here, and let nature take its course, Clem was right. He couldn’t very well leave Luke alone out there. He’d do something selfless and stupid and get himself killed. And he couldn’t let a little girl run off into lurker-infested woods in good conscience. He sighed.

“You're right.”

He took a sip of his whiskey and pushed himself back to his feet.

“Now, look, if we get separated, the cabin's only half a mile from here. You can't miss it.”

Nick took a final sip and turned back to Clem.

“You ready?” He asked. Instead of responding, she pulled the crate away from the door. Nick sighed. This was about the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but staying in the shed would’ve been stupider.

“Fuck it,” He said. They pushed the door open and snuck out. A lurker ambled toward them, and Nick hit it with the jar. He grinned.

“Ha! Fuck you, motherfucker!” He said, but his victory was short-lived as more walkers took notice of them. “Oh, shit…” He made a split second decision and dashed off to the side.

“Hey! Over here!” He waved his arms wildly.

“C'mon, you fucks! Look at me!” He turned back to Clementine. “Get the fuck out of here!”

The girl didn’t have to be told twice, dashing off into the woods, and, hopefully to safety. Nick glanced around at the walkers closing in, and ran back into the shed. He shoved the box back up against the door, and fell back to the floor as the walkers pounded on the doors. Now, all he could do was hope that Clem made it back to the cabin.

Until then, Nick was alone with his thoughts.


	7. When to Fold 'Em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete contemplates the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it may come on the heel of another unfortunate delay - quarantine season sure is an interesting time, isn't it? - but here, at last, is Chapter 7. You'll notice straight off the bat that it's probably our most massive divergence so far, which will only become a thousand times clearer by the end of the chapter, so needless to say I can't wait for feedback from everyone. Enjoy, audience!
> 
> (This chapter written by: Sven)

**Chapter VII: When to Fold ‘Em  
** _“The best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep.”_

**Pete.  
  
** The first rays of daybreak saw Peter Joseph Randall, brother of Laura and uncle of Nicholas, rouse from a sickly, feverish half-sleep on the floor of the cigarette truck he had used as shelter the day before. As he woke, his first attempt to draw breath degenerated into a wretched hacking fit that shook him to the very core of his dying, infected being. He could taste old blood in his mouth and his body had somehow managed to settle on just the right middle ground between raging fever and icy chill.

All told, it wasn’t the way Pete hoped, planned, or figured he would die, at least up until the world went up shit’s creek. But here he was, wasting away in the back of an old truck in the middle of nowhere, bitten twice and with lurkers shuffling around outside the red metal walls around him. Never in his life had Pete been a man for half measures, and apparently that extended all the way to the _end_ of it.

Go big or go home.

Slowly, Pete managed to push himself up, catching his breath with a titanic effort. One look at his hands was enough to confirm that he looked as godforsaken awful as he felt; sometime during the night, it seemed, his skin had gone the ashen gray color of a corpse, which he figured was fitting in more than one way. Further up past his right hand, he caught a good long look at the torn gash in the sleeve of his coat and the blackening wound under it, one of the two bites which had doomed him. Had it just been that one, or had it just been the bite above his ankle on the same side, Pete would have taken his chances with the hacksaw he’d found in this makeshift shelter hours ago. But of course it hadn’t been just the one; the way the lurkers were swarming him, there at the end, just living long enough to run seemed like a lucky break.

Not that it mattered now. In the end, in spite of everything, he had gone big. Over the fifty-eight years he’d been alive, Pete had learned that some things were just meant to be, no matter how one fought and wished against them. Now, all Pete had left was one fleeting, faint relief: that, at the very least, Nick would be far away from him when this final stretch of borrowed time ran out. Pete would have wished witnessing the slow death of a loved one on nobody, and his nephew - for all the times he and Pete had clashed, for all the times Nick had made avoidable mistakes and pissed him completely off - especially deserved better than to see it up close for a second time.

Drawing on all the reserves of his strength for it, Pete pushed himself into a kneeling position, then all the way to his feet. He took a single step forward and lurched forward almost instantaneously as he felt those said reserves give a dying heave of their own. Any other place, he would have fallen flat on his face, but the truck’s loading doors kept him propped up.

Through the gap in the doors, he could see them. The herd had thinned in the hours Pete had spent in the truck, but there were still more than a dozen lurkers just outside. Loitering, ruminating, and waiting him out. When Pete considered it, he realized that the lurkers had cost him everything that ever mattered to him. First the world around him, then his sister’s life, and now his own. Maybe even his nephew’s, for all he knew, though Pete put all that was left of himself into hoping that wasn’t the case. He was damn close to dead and gone, but he could at least do that.

 _He’s the last of us._ The thought came to Pete without bidding, as he watched the lurkers peruse and meander outside. _Your boy’s all that’s left of either of us, Laura. I did what I could, and now he’s on his own._

Yes, indeed. In spite of everything, in spite of all the kid had ever done to ignore what Pete had tried to teach him over the years, Nick was all that remained of the Randalls, and now he was on his own. He’d still have Luke, he’d still have the others, but Pete’s days of trying to guide Nick and steer him right were over.

And Christ, Pete wished that weren’t so. For the lion’s share of his nephew’s entire life, Pete had been the closest thing he’d had to a father, not that the shit-for-brains deadbeat whose job it was supposed to be had been much of one to Nick even for the twelve years he _was_ around. He and his sister had made it work, too, at least as best they could for trying to raise a kid as brooding and self-isolating as Nicholas Randall. But then the world went off its rails and cut Laura’s life off decades before her time, and now here Pete was fixing to join her, a thousand things unsaid and a thousand more ignored.

The way Pete saw it, his job wasn’t even close to finished. But that was the way it was. As the song went, you had to know when to fold ‘em.

Wheezing out his breath, Pete turned and slumped against the metal wall nearest the doors, taking in his surroundings for what he knew would be the final time. Sheet metal walls housing only a couple of scattered crates, an empty shelf, a rickety shipping pallet...and a single rusty, but still serviceable hacksaw. All the use it could have had in saving his own skin was long gone, and he wasn’t sick or tired enough to think that he could possibly use it to fight his way back to the cabin, but he could still use it to _fight._ Of all the lessons Pete had ever tried to teach his nephew, that had always been the one which most stuck: that, when the going got tough and the world was closing in, there was nothing wrong with making sure you weren’t taken without a fight.

With going down swinging.

Pete didn’t want to die. If he was being honest with himself (and what better time to be, really), the thought of it scared him shitless. But he knew when to fold ‘em, and he figured he might as well do it practicing what he had spent so much time preaching.

Reaching out with an arm which barely felt, Pete closed the fingers of his right hand around the handle of the hacksaw. Wheezing out his breath as he did so, he pushed himself to his feet once more with a titanic effort, feeling his weapon’s weight, which otherwise should have been inconsequential, drag his arm down with it. He wondered, for a moment, if he was too far gone to do any damage at all, but then he decided that it didn’t matter. What else was he to do, other than sit and waste away? If he _did_ accomplish something by making a final stand, if it _did_ mean that Nick and Clementine stood even a sliver more of a snowball’s chance in Hell of making it back to the others, then it would all be worth it. And if he didn’t…

If he didn’t, then at least the spirit of the thing still mattered.

Pete turned, braced himself against the loading doors, and shoved them open with the ungodly squall of rusted metal scraping against itself. As if someone had flipped a switch on them, the lurkers ceased aimlessly shambling and began to turn, all at once, toward the noise, suddenly becoming aware of the new presence among them. Using the truck to support himself for as long as he could, Pete took the single step down onto solid ground, tightening his numb fingers around the hacksaw and conning the lurkers with his eyes. Even the quick estimation of his muddled mind was enough to tell him that his initial guess at their numbers - more than a dozen - was correct. Were he whole, he thought, and were he well, those wouldn’t be impossible odds, but Pete was very far from either of those things.

But that had its own advantages in a situation like his, didn’t it?

One lurker reached him, ahead and to his right, and Pete swung at it. The strike was on-target, but the motion dragged a grunting cry out of him as pain went rocketing through his feverish body, throwing his aim off just enough to make him miss. The lurker closed the distance and reached for him with a gurgling growl, but on the heels of the pain came another thing: the awakening clarity of adrenaline. Gritting his teeth and righting himself, Pete swung the hacksaw underhand and buried the blade in what used to be the lurker’s nose, cutting through the rotting brain behind it. It jerked once and fell, pulling Pete down with it. Wrenching his weapon free and coming back up sent a fresh wave of pain through Pete’s body, but in the throes of fight-or-flight, he was beginning not to care. Seeing another coming on his left, he swung side-on at it and clipped it across the temple; the sawblade skidded and removed a chunk of skull as the force of the blow threw the lurker to the ground. The next one, coming immediately behind it, got the saw slammed down between its eyes.

For Pete, the world became a blur of heat and fury and dulling ache. Time ceased to matter, and survival never had. Killing these things, putting down whatever got in his way with whatever strength he had left, was a matter of spite. It was his last great defiance, and the last thing he could do for...

 _Laura._ His sister’s name came to him as he moved, shambling like the dead on his numbing, weakening legs, but fighting with a strength to match the horde. _This is for you, Laura. I got Nick as far as I can and now this is all I have left to give you. Closest thing to justice we’re gonna get._

Pete wasn’t sure how far he’d made it or how many he’d killed by the time the sawblade finally broke, snapping off in another decaying skull. When this one took him down with it, retrieving what remained of his weapon was out of the question, because just getting back up was going to take damn near more than he had left. Half-blind, blood pounding in his ears, he scrabbled for a rock and found one, shoving himself back up and swinging the makeshift bludgeon at the first head that shambled into his reach. The lurker went down, but this time it wasn’t enough to make it go out. It righted itself, clasped its skeletal hand around Pete’s bitten ankle, and dragged him down with it. Before his failing consciousness could will his body to force it off of him, the lurker dragged itself up his body and bit down on the first thing it found, which was his uninjured arm. The pain still didn’t register with him, but the familiar sound and sensation did.

Up ahead, Pete could see, through blurring vision edged with veins of red, at least three more closing in. As his mind processed the reality before him - really, finally processed it - he had exactly enough time to think one thing.

_Come on, then, come and end it already._

And then he heard - faintly, as though coming from some far-off planet - the sound of gunfire. It wasn’t the sharp whipcrack of a rifle, but the resonant _thud_ of something with a heavier caliber. One of the coming lurkers fell. Then another. A shape emerged from the trees and seemed to _envelope_ the final one before coming up on him. In that brief moment, what remained of Pete’s vision made out a green jacket and two eyes, as pale as ice, peering from a black mask. Then the shape hauled the final lurker from Pete’s body, hurled it to one side, and planted a foot in its skull.

Struggling to process what he was seeing with his fading consciousness, Pete used the last of his adrenaline to push himself backward until his back met something hard. His peripheral vision was as good as gone, so he had no way of knowing what it was, but it was all he had left in him to do. With a groan, he looked dead ahead of him, and-

Another shape emerged from the woods. As the figure approached him, the other falling into step behind them, Pete’s picture of them began to sharpen. Not short, but not tall either. A leather coat lined in fur. Hands casually reloading a heavy Colt Python revolver. Graying brown hair and a mustache fading into untrimmed stubble.

Stopping just a foot short of him, William Carver spun the cylinder of the Python back into place and smiled a friendly smile betrayed by his unfeeling gray eyes. “Well howdy, Pete.”

Pete was beyond the fear he might have felt any other time. In his state, he had no reason to fear much of anything, not even Carver. But he was able to muster a single thought as everything he and the others had tried to accomplish fell, in flames, around his ears. 

_Fuck._

“Well, it sure isn’t a good state you’re in,” Carver went on, stepping up alongside him. His voice, as it had so often been for them, was a perfect mask of neighborly friendliness. But that was all it was, and all it had ever been: a mask. “How’d you come to get in a predicament like this, Pete? Ain’t like the others to just leave you high and dry.”

Pete mustered all of his breath to respond, in more of a growl than actual speech, “Not...here.”

“I gathered that,” Carver responded, bending into a kneeling position next to him. “I don’t suppose you feel like telling me where I might find them, do you?”

Pete wished, with all he had left, that his mouth wasn’t too bone-dry to spit in William Carver’s face. But that, too, was beyond him, so he did the best he could. He said nothing.

“Didn’t think so,” Carver said, shaking his head. Then he stood, returned the Colt to its holster at his hip, and smiled his liar’s smile again. “But that’s fine. You know what? I think I’ll let you think on it for a bit.” He turned his head. “Get the perimeter. Think I’ll go have a look around that cabin we saw up ahead.”

Pete felt a rising bile of disgust and horror, even in his fading state, and his mind managed another thought, this one longer. _No. No. Please God and Jesus no._

“Sir,” the other figure affirmed quietly. William Carver spared Pete one final smile - _Have fun,_ it seemed to say - then turned and stalked into the woods, leaving only Pete and...

The figure in the green jacket watched the treeline for a long, long moment. Then those icelike eyes went to Pete, and his visitor reached up, almost thoughtfully, and removed the ski mask. What Pete saw was a man whose lined, exhaustion-shadowed eyes and white-streaked blond hair and beard could belong to someone who was anywhere between fifteen years younger than him or five years older. Slowly, the other man came up to him, giving Pete just enough time to process that he had almost a foot of height on Carver himself, and knelt at his side.

“Not bad work,” he said. His voice was a growling drawl ( _Texas,_ Pete’s consciousness told him, _Has to be Texas_ ), and his tone was perfectly flat and neutral, completely unlike Carver’s acted-out friendliness. “Tough son of a bitch.”

Pete grunted something which might have been a proper retort to that in another place and time. “Don’t...know you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Green Jacket told him. His right hand came up to rest on his leg, and Pete could make out a long, black shape clutched in that fist. “New arrival.”

Pete swallowed, or at least attempted to. His mouth was dry and his throat burned. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, everything was starting to burn. His eyes tracked down to the shape in Green Jacket’s hand and vaguely recognized it as a knife, and he thought, _Please God just get it over with._

“Don’t,” he managed, hacking before he could get the entire word out. “Don’t...hurt them. Don’t.”

Green Jacket was quiet for a long moment, exhaling breath through his nose. Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “You’re Pete, right?”

Pete tried to swallow again. Christ, it was like fire. “Pete...Randall. What’s...“

“Austin,” Green Jacket responded. “Austin Hopewell. Wish I could make your acquaintance someplace and sometime better, ol’ timer.” Pete saw him turn the knife to an underhand grip. Then he reached out and placed his empty left hand on Pete’s shoulder. His voice was almost soothing when he spoke again. “Take it easy, Pete. Won’t be long now.”

Pete watched the other man’s face - his quiet, unreadable eyes - for only a moment before he let his head drop back against what was behind it. His own eyes fixated on the sky, on majestic sunrise over North Carolina, and he let himself think of fifty-eight years. Of them, he had spent fifty-three with his younger sister and twenty-six with his nephew, and for everything that had gone wrong, Pete decided he regretted none of them. He thought of the people he would be leaving, all of the others in his group, and came to terms with leaving them to fight without him. It would be hard, as it had always been for the past two years, but Pete was only one cog in a cohesive, tenacious machine. They had survived Carver once, and they would survive Carver again. He wished he could help them do it, but they would get on just fine without him.

You had to know when to fold ‘em, the song said, and Pete decided he was ready to cash out.

His final thoughts were, _Nick, I love-_

And then Austin Hopewell’s blade struck, consciousness went dark, and, beneath a North Carolina sunrise, Peter Joseph Randall ceased to be.


	8. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clementine hosts an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just finished my first cover-to-cover playthrough of TWDG Season 1 this week, including 400 Days, so needless to say the Light of Day mood is high right now. Hopefully that's going to translate well to my coming two chapters. In the meantime, have another chapter, because my esteemed cowriter wrote like a champion while I was stalled!
> 
> (This chapter written by: Lily)

**Chapter VIII: Trapped  
** _ "Seems like I’ve been playing your game.” _

**Clementine.  
**   
Apparently, being chased through the woods was becoming a daily occurrence. To be fair, Clem would take a few walkers over a group of bandits, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the coast was clear, at least for the time being. At this point, Clementine wasn’t sure how long she’d been running. It could have been hours, but it could have been merely minutes. In her state of mind, she couldn’t trust her own perception, and honestly, she wasn’t even sure she was going in the right direction. Clem was pretty sure she knew when she’d started running, but then again, she hadn’t exactly had much time to stop and think, and she’d surely changed direction a couple times since then.

Just as she was about to give up and turn the other way, she caught sight of the familiar riverbank through the trees, still lined with corpses. Her pace slowed as she came up to the edge of the treeline, not wanting to give herself away to any potential adversaries, living or otherwise.

Glancing around, she only caught sight of a couple undead stragglers, but Clem was far too familiar with the fact that a couple stragglers could turn into a life-jeopardizing problem in a short amount of time. She looked around for something to use as a weapon, before settling on a sturdy looking stick. Not the greatest weapon ever, but it was something. If she was quick, she could probably sneak past without being spotted, but just in case, she didn’t want to go in empty-handed.

She took another quick look across the river and steeled her resolve. Taking a deep breath, she darted out from the trees and made a mad dash to the sandbar she’d found her backpack on earlier, ducking behind a large rock to regroup. She peeked out from behind the rock and felt the tiniest bit of relief at the fact that the walkers seemed undisturbed. Still, she wasn’t safe. She had yet to make it to the other side.

Clementine pushed herself back to her feet and ran toward the riverbank. She’d nearly made it unnoticed, but just before she reached the shore, her foot caught on a rock and she went down. She quickly scrambled to the shore, but unfortunately, she’d alerted several nearby walkers to her presence.

“Shit…” She muttered, brandishing the stick and considering her options. As the walkers shambled toward her, she thrust the stick through the closest one’s eye with as much force as she could muster, before turning and darting into the woods. She was sure that the walkers were on her tail, but she was far faster than they were, and harder to find among the dense forest. If she just kept moving, she’d probably be alright.

After another five minutes of running, Clem was pretty sure she’d lost the walkers. She reached a break in the trees. She stepped into the clearing and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the cabin. She made her way to the back door and let herself in, thankful that it was unlocked. Carlos, who had been hovering in the kitchen, turned to face her.

“Clementine, are you alright? Luke’s not with you,” He said, and though his voice was calm, it was clearly laced with concern.

“Where’s Alvin?” Rebecca asked, significantly more frantic than her friend.

“What happened? It’s been hours, Clementine.”

Clem took a moment to catch her breath, aware that she was about to be the bearer of bad news, but it was a moment too long for Rebecca.

“Clem! What happened out there?” She asked, taking a step toward the girl.

“We got attacked-“

Rebecca cut her off before she could finish. “By who?”

“By walkers,” She said with a twinge of annoyance at Rebecca’s impatience. It was greatly outweighed, however, by her worry about Nick. Hopefully they could send someone out to look for him. And what was that they’d said about Alvin and Luke?

“Jesus…” Rebecca breathed, deflating only slightly. Clem took a breath, and prepared to break the bad news.

“Pete got killed. I was with Nick, but…” She trailed off. Carlos’s eyes widened.

“My god.”

“Where were you? Where were you exactly?” Rebecca pressed, her tone urgent.

“Down by the stream.”

“We gotta go,” Rebecca said, heading for the door Clementine had burst through moments before.

Carlos sighed. “Just… hold on a minute,” He said, clearly trying to organize his thoughts rationally. He didn’t seem like the type to go in with guns blazing and no plan of action, which Clementine admired. Far too often, she’d seen groups destroyed by impulsive actions and hot-headed leaders.

Rebecca shook her head and glared at the man. “My husband is still out there. Get. The. Guns.”

Carlos nodded sharply and left the room, presumably to get the aforementioned guns. His apparent need to keep his people safe outweighed his desire to think things through. Clementine could appreciate that, too. As soon as Carlos exited, Rebecca turned to face Clem.

“Luke and Alvin went out looking for you. I told them not to go,” She turned to face the door, and spoke more to herself than to Clementine. “Damn it, Luke.”

Carlos re-entered the room holding a pair of rifles, one of which he handed to Rebecca. She headed out the door without saying anything else. Carlos turned to face Clem, concern coloring his features. She didn’t blame him.

“Clementine, can you... can you please watch Sarah? She's upstairs. Just distract her. And don't tell her anything! She’ll get… nervous,” He said, eyes flicking from her face to the stairs behind her and back. Clem nodded.

“Hurry. Find Nick and Luke and Alvin. I’ll take care of Sarah, you can trust me.”

Carlos nodded, seemingly satisfied. “You’ll be safe inside the cabin. Just, don’t open the doors for anyone or anything. We’ll be back soon,” He headed to the door, and then paused to look back at her. “And… thank you, Clementine.”

Clem gave what she hoped was a reassuring nod, and Carlos headed out the door and into the woods. Left alone in the kitchen, she made her way through the living room and up the stairs. Despite the circumstances, she was looking forward to hanging out with Sarah again. It’d been so long since she’d been able to just talk to someone, free of judgement. After Omid’s death, she’d constantly felt like she had something to prove to Christa. And with the rest of the cabin group, she was still a kid, a kid who they didn’t trust yet. But to Sarah, she was an equal. A friend. That was refreshing.

She pushed open the door to Sarah’s room, and was immediately met with a flash of light. Instinctively, she flinched away slightly, before she registered Sarah’s voice and realized that the older girl had merely taken a picture of her.

“I found this under the house, isn’t it cool? There was all kinds of old stuff!” She handed the picture over to Clem, who glanced at it before putting it in her pocket. It was pretty cool.

“Come on, take one of me next! Please?” Sarah added. Clementine considered this. What was the harm in taking a single picture?

“Alright, sure,” She decided, and Sarah handed the camera over with a grin.

“Get me in a good pose, okay?” She requested. Clem smiled at her.

“Better give me your best pose, then.”

Sarah stuck her tongue out and threw up a peace sign. “Okay, I’m ready!” Clem adjusted the camera, made sure it was steady, and took the picture. She was a little startled by the photo spitting itself out, but she didn’t show it. Clementine handed both the camera and the picture back to Sarah, her smile fading as her thoughts were drawn back to the rest of the group. She really hoped they were okay. Sarah seemed to notice, as her smile dropped slightly.

“What’s wrong? Where’d my dad go?”

Clem considered what to say. Carlos had told her not to let Sarah know what was going on, but keeping her friend completely in the dark felt wrong.

“He’ll be fine. I… while Nick, Pete and I were fishing, we got attacked by a group of walkers and got separated. Pete… Pete got bit. Nick and I got away though, and he’s hiding out in a shed nearby. Your dad and the rest of the adults are just out looking for him.”

Sarah closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, before slowly turning to face the window. It seemed like she was doing some sort of breathing exercises. Ben had shown Clementine a couple back at the motor inn, and she’d found they were effective at calming her down since. She hoped they worked the same for Sarah. After a moment, the older girl turned back to face her.

“Sorry, I- I just need to…” She trailed off, electing instead to lower herself onto the floor and wrap her arms around her legs. Clementine felt a twinge of guilt as she joined Sarah on the floor. Clem smiled tentatively at her, and after a moment, Sarah returned it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out,” Clem said. Sarah nodded.

“It’s- it’s fine. I’m glad you told me the truth, even if it was bad. I like everyone else, but I know they all keep things from me. It’s annoying.”

Clem thought back to her time at the motor inn. “Tell me about it.”

Suddenly, Sarah perked up slightly. “Hey, you wanna see what I found?” Without waiting for an answer, she was rummaging under her bed. A second later, she returned with a small gun in her hand. “Will you show me how to use it? I couldn't find any bullets. But I keep thinking… what if I have to use one? If there’s something going on, I should know how.”

Clem considered this. It would probably be smart for Sarah to know how to handle a gun, especially since the group were on the run from this Carver character. Then again, was it really her place to teach Sarah? Carlos probably wouldn’t be okay with it. But the importance of Sarah being prepared outweighed Carlos’s concerns in her mind. That settled it for Clem.

“Okay, I’ll teach you. But it isn’t a toy, so you have to be careful with it.”

Sarah nodded seriously. “I know.”

“First, remember it’s just a thing,” Clem said, parroting what Lee had told her years before. Sarah pointed the gun with what Clem knew to be very poor form.

“What does that mean?” She asked, looking confused. Clem paused.

“Um… I don’t actually know,” She said, adjusting Sarah’s position. Once she had the gun pointed properly at the wall, Clem spoke again.

“Make sure you don’t point it at anything you don’t want to shoot. If your finger slips, you could accidentally fire it. And guns are super loud. You heard Nick’s rifle last night from inside, right? Well, it’s way louder up close. And, um… especially with bigger guns, but with smaller ones too, when you fire, it’ll push back at you. Make sure you lock your arms like you’re doing right now, just so that it doesn’t push back as much.”

Sarah’s face bore a look of extreme concentration as she took that all in. “I think I get it. Anything else I need to know?”

“The most important thing is, always aim for the head.”

Sarah nodded. “Okay.”

Clem considered something she hadn’t thought of before. “Unless it’s a person trying to hurt you.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Just keep shooting,” Clementine said with a sigh. Sarah glanced around the room.

“What should I shoot?” She asked, getting an idea. “Oh, wait! Maybe I could practice outside! There’s that tree.”

Before Clementine could tell her that Carlos had said not to leave the house, Sarah was looking out the window, most likely looking for the tree she’d mentioned in order to point it out to Clem. Then she perked up. “Hey, Luke’s back!”

All thoughts of the tree were forgotten as Sarah turned to head downstairs. Clem glanced out the window, barely getting a glimpse at the man below before he was out of her frame of view. She frowned. That didn’t look like Luke… She hadn’t gotten a very good look at the man, but he looked older.

She hurried after Sarah, heading through the living room and to the front door. She found the older girl there, looking significantly more nervous than she had upstairs.

“That’s not Luke. Clem… I think I know him,” She said, just as the man rapped on the front door. Sarah shook her head. “He can’t see me. You have to make him go away.”

“Go, find somewhere to hide!” Clementine whispered urgently.

“Where?” Sarah asked, her breaths growing shallower. The man knocked again.

“Hello there? Anybody home?” He called into the house. His voice was deep and gravelly, and put Clementine on edge, although that might have been the result of the circumstances. Sarah looked utterly shaken.

“Clem, I can't breathe… I ca- I can't breathe!” She said. Clementine turned to face Sarah, knowing she didn’t have much time to calm the girl and to keep the man out.

“It’s okay. Just… get behind the couch, don’t let him see you. You’ll be okay,” She said. Sarah nodded shakily, running to hide behind the couch. Clementine quickly turned back to face the door again. She reached to make sure that the door was locked, but just as she was about to do so, it was pushed open from the other side. Damn it. For a group of people who were so paranoid, they sure did make their cabin easy to get into. This was the second unwanted visitor they’d had in as many days.

“Hello there,” The man said in that same unsettling voice, taking a step into the threshold. He was significantly taller than Clementine, although that was to be expected when comparing a grown man and an eleven year old girl. Still, his height, his build, and his heavy brown coat served to make him appear even more imposing. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a little while, and his hair seemed to be greying at the roots. Clem instinctively took a step back.

“Who are you?” She asked simply. No use getting aggressive from the get-go, but it was also important to come off as someone you don’t want to mess with.

The man took another step forward. “Well, actually, I’m your neighbor.”

Clem cocked an eyebrow suspiciously. “Neighbor?”

The man nodded. “That’s right.” It was only then that Clementine noticed the pistol on his belt. Shit. The man continued, unaware of her thoughts. “My family and I are set up a ways downriver. I’m… kinda surprised we haven’t run into each other yet. What’s your name?”

Clementine thought quickly. “My name’s Carley.”

“Carley. That's a sweet name. You mind if I come in, Carley? I've been out all morning and this heat has got me cooked,” The man didn’t wait for a response as he took another step into the house. Clem frowned.

“Actually, I do mind,” She said, but the man ignored her. This was bad. Carlos had specifically said not to let anyone into the cabin.

“This is a nice place. Is there anyone around? You don't usually see cabins this big out here. Sure could pack a lot of folks in there,” The man said, inspecting the hallway before looking into the living room.

“It’s just me and- and dad,” She said, feeling a twinge of sadness as she said it. She really missed her dad. She rarely thought of her parents at length, what with daily threats to her safety taking up most of her thoughts. When she did think of them, it was bittersweet.

“Yeah? And what’s his name?”

“Ed,” She answered automatically. The weight of her hat on her head was suddenly noticeable to her.

“A strong name. I like him already. Where is he?”

“He’s… out,” Clem said, and immediately regretted how vague she’d been in her response. The strange man could probably see right through her. Well, she could see through him, so two could play at that game. The man paused, before heading into the living room.

“Well, I'll cut to the chase; I'm looking for my people. Seven of them, to be exact,” Clem’s heart began to race. She was in a very precarious situation. She could only hope Sarah stayed hidden. “They've been gone a long while and... I'm worried they might've gotten lost. Maybe you've seen 'em. Couple of farm boys and an old man... Spanish guy and his daughter. Quiet girl, bit taller than you. A big black guy. This big. And a pretty little pregnant lady.”

“That's a lot of people to lose,” Clementine replied after a moment, evading the question. The man shook his head.

“Tell me about it. This whole damn thing's a pain in the ass.”

After not finding what he was looking for in the living room, the man headed into the kitchen. Immediately, Clem saw his eyes drawn to the pile of dishes in the sink. “That's a lotta plates for two people. Looks like a tornado ran through here.”

“Yeah, well. It’s supposed to be my job to do the dishes,” She said, quickly surveying the kitchen. She didn’t find anything that would give the rest of the group’s presence away, but her eyes did catch on a kitchen knife sitting on the opposite counter.

“Just passin’ through, or you been here a while? Hey, listen, kid. I hope you're not one of those nuts headed up north, lookin' for Shangri-La. I'm not sure why you'd go anywhere after finding this place. Hell, I just got here and I already don't want to leave.”

“Just passing through. Going north,” Clementine said. The man shook his head.

“Whole lot of people headed that way lately. Me, I don't get it. Just as much nothing up there as there is down here. And I can't stand that Yankee weather.”

“The cold’s supposed to slow them down. At least, that’s what my friend Christa said.”

The man frowned. “Well, that’s not worth the trade, in my opinion.”

He noticed Clem glancing at the knife, and quickly reached for it. Clem flinched. The man brandished it in the air for a moment, before looking at her with a level expression. “Where does this go?”

“Uh… in the… in the drawer there,” She gestured vaguely. The man opened one of the drawers and dropped the knife in with a clatter. Somehow, that didn’t make Clementine feel any safer.

“Well, this is a real nice place. Kinda cozy,” He said as he walked back into the living room. Clem noticed Sarah dart between couches, but the man thankfully didn’t notice. His eyes were drawn to one of Carlos’s plaid shirts, which was draped over the couch. Damn it. “I knew a guy that always wore shirts like this. Doctor. Real smug son of a bitch. But a smart man. I miss him.”

“What happened to him?” Clementine asked, already anticipating the answer.

“Let's just say we had our differences. Sooner or later, people close to you will find a reason to cross you. Happens every time.”

Clementine didn’t have a response to that.

The man turned to the chessboard on the table. He whistled. “Well, well... white's in trouble. Three moves away from checkmate,” Just then, Clem saw Sarah dart up the stairs. A floorboard creaked, and the man turned to look in the direction of the noise. “What was that?”

Clem shrugged. The man turned back to face her, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

“I thought you said nobody's here.”

“It’s… probably the wind,” Clem supplied, but the man disregarded her. Even she wouldn’t believe herself. The man drew his pistol and began to creep up the stairs. Clem reluctantly followed behind him. He pushed open the door to Sarah’s room, and was faced, to Clementine’s relief, with a seemingly empty room. From Clem’s height, she could see Sarah hiding under the bed. Hopefully, she was hidden well enough that the man wouldn’t see her. She held her breath as the man poked around, glancing under furniture. When he straightened up and faced her again, she looked up at him defiantly.

“I told you, nobody's here.”

The man sighed, holstering his weapon. “Seems that way. Didn't mean to be rude. Couldn't just leave you here with a good conscience if someone was poking around, right?”

“…Sure.”

Just when she thought she was in the clear, something on the floor next to the bed caught the strange man’s eye. Clem’s eyes flicked down in turn, and her heart sank. It was the picture she’d taken of Sarah. Shit. She watched almost in slow motion as he crouched down to pick it up. All she could do now was hope that both she and Sarah got out of this interaction unscathed.


	9. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah renews old acquaintances from a healthy distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit late on this one, but thankfully not quite as much - at least comparatively - as my last few creations. I'll be getting on the next chapter straight away, though, so hopefully I'll be able to just about pull off a double feature.
> 
> Also, just a little production note: writing a full chapter of your POV character having a panic attack, it turns out, is very emotionally draining!
> 
> (This chapter written by: Sven)

**Chapter IX: Old Friends  
** _“Memory brushes the same years, silently sharing the same fear.”_

**Sarah.  
**   
Carver was here. 

Carver had found them, and now he was here.

Sarah felt as though she was moving and living within a dream, some kind of nightmare of the worst sort. Her throat felt tight, her breathing burned and ached, and - for the first time in her recent memory - the cold hand of terror and the sound of her own frantic heartbeat in her ears drowned out the rote thoughts which typically followed her.

That was, most of them. One made it through, and it was as plain and sharp as the voice of someone standing right next to her.

_(run)_

But Sarah _couldn’t_ run. To give into the screaming, burning urge to get as far away from William Carver as quickly as she could would be to give herself away, to let _him_ know she was here, and so she had to shove back every raw instinct of her panicking mind and plot her way out of this, piece by piece.

She couldn’t run, no, but she could hide. If she could keep her frantic breathing from giving her away, if she could stave off the panic attack she knew very well was coming, Sarah could hide, and that would be good enough.

Following Clementine’s direction without even fully processing it, acting out what she was told with all the conscious thought of a plane on autopilot, Sarah ducked behind the room’s circle of couches and armchairs just as the front door opened. From where she was, crouched down close to the closet under the stairs, Sarah was aware that there was a conversation behind her - the sound of Clementine’s voice interacting with one much older and raspier - but making out actual words was well beyond Sarah in her current state, even though the two of them weren’t so much as ten feet away from her. Other than a few words, just enough to confirm to her (as if she needed it) why Carver was here, the specific details of the conversation taking place in the entryway were drowned out by the sound of her racing thoughts and racing heart.

( _how did he find us, who else is with him, did he see the others_ )

That last thought was almost enough to paralyze Sarah all on its own. Oh, God, _had_ he seen the others? Had Carver run into Luke or Alvin or her _father_?

( _don’t let it be, please please don’t let it be_ )

Swallowing hard, as if she could swallow the thought with it, Sarah shut her eyes against the tsunami in her head and focused on doing the one thing she could. Stopping the panic was as far beyond her as the murmurs of conversation behind her, but slowing it was not, so she crossed her arms hard over her chest and forced herself to _breathe._ She inhaled, slow and deep, through her nose, and let the air out through her mouth. Then she repeated it, and then she repeated it again, routing her scrabbling mind away from its frantic jumble of thought and willing it to cling to the echo of Clementine’s voice and the words that came with it.

( _it’s okay, you’ll be okay_ )

The world around her, and the sounds that went with it, came back to Sarah in time to allow her to intuit the sound of footsteps behind her. Letting out her breath, she opened her eyes and moved, slow and quiet on the floorboards, behind the armchair in front of her, precious steps closer to the stairs. _Now_ she could make out exactly what Clem and Carver were saying, but on that score, Sarah could have waited.

“I knew a guy that always wore shirts like this,” Carver commented, and Sarah needed no context for exactly what he was talking about. Somewhere in her subconscious, she had registered that one of her father’s shirts was draped over the couch behind her, but only now did she really process it. Sarah’s eyes widened, and she felt her heart take a freefall plunge. She thought, very simply, _Oh no, oh no no no._ “Doctor. Real smug son of a bitch. But a smart man. I miss him.”

Sarah might not have had much in the way of conversational insight, but she hardly needed it to know that last part was a lie. Even without the dead, flat tone to Carver’s words, she was very aware of the mutual hatred he and her father had always shared. Sarah’s memories of the time she and her father spent at Carver’s settlement were all jumbled and smeared together, but she remembered the hatred. There was a lot of it then, between just about everyone there, but that dynamic was the one which stood out to her. Sarah remembered how it unsettled her, because, for all of her, she couldn’t recall any other time she was aware her father _hated_ someone.

“What happened to him?” Clementine responded. To Sarah’s ears, it sounded like she was doing a much better job of keeping her cool, and Sarah caught herself briefly, albeit fervently, wishing for that kind of resolve.

 _(you have to have it now, it doesn’t matter if you wish, you_ **_have_ ** _to)_

Steadying her breath, Sarah chanced a look over her shoulder, rising just enough to peer out from behind the couch. To her own perception, Clementine’s voice sounded further away from her than Carver’s, nearer the doorway, and that brief glance played out that glimmer of hope as Sarah caught sight of the back of Carver’s head. He was facing away from her.

“Let’s just say we had our differences,” he said. “Sooner or later, people close to you will find a reason to cross you. Happens every time.”

Her father had always kept the exact why and how of their group’s falling out with Carver from her, but from Sarah’s limited understanding of events, Carver had given them every single reason to cross her. He had become…

 _A tyrant,_ some recess of her mind filled in for her in her father’s voice, some hazy memory of some overheard conversation.

Sarah saw Carver’s head turn toward the chessboard on the table, and he began making idle chatter about the game in progress. Turning her head away to face the stairway, Sarah mustered her floundering reserves of courage, let out her breath, and went for it. With Carver distracted, she moved forward, just quickly enough to make use of her window of opportunity without also making herself obvious. A stair creaked halfway up, surely an insignificant sound any other time but now as loud as a rocket to Sarah’s ears, and it was nearly enough to make her freeze with panic again. The feeling rose up in her, threatened to spill over her, and she put all of her force of will into burying it.

_(don’t you dare, not now, shut up)_

She forced herself to keep moving. Finding the upper landing, Sarah turned down the hallway and darted through the open door to her room. Then, for just a few precious seconds, she found herself hung up by - of all the absurd, pointless things in a situation like this - whether or not to close the door behind her.

_(doesn’t matter he’ll come in anyway)_

Letting that thought be tossed aside, Sarah took her only remaining, reliable avenue to hide, dropping down next to her bed and easing her way under it. Though a bit taller than average for her age, Sarah otherwise had a slim frame, but even for her the fit was a tight one, and she found her scrambling mind lamenting - for the first time, maybe - the finicky neatness which had prompted her to fit Clementine’s pillow and sleeping bag under the bed.

Tucking her left arm in alongside herself, as close as she could get it, Sarah closed her eyes and tried to focus once more on slowing and quieting her breathing. In some deep recess of her mind, she _knew_ she was forgetting something, forgetting or neglecting something _important,_ but for the life of her she didn’t know what. All she could bring herself to do now was lie still, try to breathe, and pray. Sarah never thought she was especially religious, but now and again things got bad enough that all she could think to do was plead with whoever was listening and hope for the best.

_Please, God, just let him leave. Just let him leave and let us make it out of this, and let the others be safe, and let Dad be okay. Can you please just do that?_

Somewhere just outside the door, Sarah could hear footfalls. Heavy bootsteps, by the sound, and she didn’t need to question whose they were. She thought she could hear lighter footsteps creaking up the stairs after the first set; she couldn’t be exactly certain, but it stood to reason. Opening her eyes, she saw the door swing open, saw Carver enter followed closely by Clementine-

And saw the picture on the floor.

_Oh._

All at once, she remembered what was forgotten. Sarah could swear she felt her heart nearly stop on the spot.

 _Oh,_ **_no._ **

Up above her, Clementine said, “I told you, nobody’s here.” For the briefest instance, Clementine’s eyes flicked down and met Sarah’s. No change of expression registered on her face, but that brief instant was enough to cut, just a little, through Sarah’s freshly-mounting panic. It was also enough to make her push herself deeper under the bed, up against the bedroll and pillows; if Clementine could see her, it meant she wasn’t hidden well enough.

“Seems that way,” Carver agreed with a sigh. “Didn't mean to be rude. Couldn't just leave you here with a good conscience if someone was poking around, right?”

Clementine let a second pass before responding, “Sure.”

The two paused again, and for a moment Sarah dared to hope that Carver would just leave well enough alone and go his own way. She had just long enough to cling to that before he bent at the waist and plucked the picture from the floor, shattering that hope where it stood. How could she have been so _stupid?_ Maybe she hadn’t seen as much as the others, maybe she hadn’t experienced whatever Clementine had experienced, but she knew - as much as her father tried to shelter her from it - how careful they had to be, and _why._

Sarah felt physically ill.

Above her, Carver said, with a casual note that was all _wrong,_ “Who is this?”

“Must be someone who lived here,” came Clem’s voice, and Sarah once more felt - vaguely, through the panic and the guilt - that pang of admiration for her composure.

“Must be.” There was a pause before he added, in that same conversational voice, “You have no idea who these people are, do you?”

Clementine was quiet for a moment, but only a moment. She said, “How do _you_ know them?”

“Let me ask you this,” Carver went on, heedless of Clem’s reply. “When you first met ‘em, how much did they trust you?”

“What’s your point?”

“If people don’t trust you, how can you trust them?” Sarah heard the smile come into Carver’s voice for the next part, and it deepened that sick feeling in her stomach. “I think I’ve troubled you long enough. I can let myself out.”

Sarah saw him turn and leave through the door, and the metaphorical weight which fell from her shoulders was physically palpable. Clementine followed him out, but not all the way, raising her voice to say, “Don’t come back.”

Outside, Sarah heard William Carver reply, “You have a real good day now, little miss.”

Sarah listened for a few moments which felt like a few millennia, watching Clementine’s back. Then, somewhere far away and down below, she heard the front door slam, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Sarah felt the familiar burning hand of anxiety begin to close around her airway again and she finally accepted that, through the tension and the ungodly _guilt,_ she had only been holding off the inevitable.

“He’s gone,” Clem said from some dimension far away, but Sarah was already making her way out from under the bed. At least, she was _trying_ to do that. Every part of her was shaking and her hands felt cold and numb. She was doing her best to regulate her breathing, but the worst part of every panic attack she had ever experienced - and there had been a good number of them over her fifteen years - was upon her. She had suffered them for the greater share of her life, but Sarah had never become used to the sensation and thought she never would, least of all in situations like this.

“”I…” It came out as more of a hoarse whisper than an actual word as Sarah pulled herself up against the dresser, rising into a seated position. “Oh, God, I…”

“Sarah?” Sarah wasn’t looking at her to see her face, but - even now, and despite that lack of conversational awareness - she could hear the concern in Clementine’s voice. Even though she must have been as on-edge as Sarah felt herself, the main thing was worry. Vaguely, she became aware that Clementine was approaching her. “Hey, he’s gone, okay?”

Clem reached for her, but Sarah shook her head hurriedly, drawing her legs up to her chest. “Don’t,” she croaked. “Please, I just...not now, I need…” She reached a shaking hand up to her face, removed her glasses, and then wrapped her arms around her knees so as to lower her forehead onto them. All of Sarah’s focus went, once more, into her breathing, but it was so hard when it felt like her throat and lungs were on fire and every synapse of her mind was firing with guilt. Trying to shut it up by telling herself that Carver had already seen her dad’s shirt didn’t help, because even then there had been some doubt. Doubt which, in the end, Sarah had removed as surely as anything by taking one picture.

 _(why, why would you do that, why would you be so_ **_stupid_ ** _)_

The burning in her chest began to bubble up, helplessly and pathetically, as tears. The only silver lining, Sarah supposed, was that Clementine couldn’t very well see them so long as she had her head buried against her arms.

There was a rustle somewhere beside her, then, and then Sarah heard Clem’s voice again. “Okay. Whatever you need.” Sarah heard her let out a long breath of her own. “You did good, you know?”

Sarah swallowed, her mind barely able to comprehend the words. “H- _How?_ ” She took in an unsteady breath. “I...I t-took that p-picture, a-and…”

“You didn’t know,” Clementine said quietly. “How could you know? I think...he knew coming in, anyway.” She was quiet for a moment. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. We’re still here, aren’t we? We made it out.”

Sarah tried to fetch another hitching breath. Clem’s words made sense, but it still hurt so _much._ “I…” She shook her head, wiping her eyes on her blue-and-white sleeves as she did so. “I’m s-so sorry, Clementine.”

“You don’t have to be,” Clem responded, not taking even a second of hesitation. “Right? What was it you said to me the other night, Sarah? You asked, but I did the deed?”

The repetition of her own words was enough to stun Sarah out of her own misery for a moment, to remind her that there was a world around her. She looked up with blurry eyes, finding Clementine sitting across from her, back against the bed, looking perfectly serious and sincere other than some not-quite-placeable sparkle in her amber-brown eyes.

In spite of herself, Sarah laughed. It was weak, but it was a laugh. “C-Come on, Clem, that’s n-not fair.”

Clementine offered Sarah a sly little smile. “You seemed like you needed it.”

Sarah managed to muster a smile of her own, though she had no earthly idea where it came from. “Th...Thanks.” She drew in, and let out, a few long breaths, turning her head away again to bury it once more in her arms. This time she didn’t cover her eyes, instead contenting to stare at the floor a few feet ahead of her. “He knows we’re here.”

Clementine looked away, her smile giving way. Sarah could sense Clem’s own weariness and tension coming through. “Yeah,” she said. “He does.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if thinking, hugging herself, or both. Sarah couldn’t tell. “Maybe this is a bad time, but who is he?”

Sarah didn’t look aside to meet Clementine’s eyes. Her jumbled memories of their old settlement - Howe’s, a hardware store complex just outside of Johnson City, Tennessee - came to her again, though not with enough clarity to be of any use to Clementine.

“Carver,” she murmured. Without any willing from Sarah herself, the hand unoccupied with her glasses moved slowly up to her hair, smoothing through it as she spoke. She made none of her typical efforts to stop it. “William Carver. He...he was in charge of the place we left. A few months ago.” She swallowed down some of the burning in her throat. “Th-The way he acted with you...that’s just the way he is. He acts like your friend, but he’s all wrong.” She drew her one arm a bit tighter around her legs. “He acted like that with Dad, I think, and that’s how we ended up there. After a while, everyone started to _know_ he was wrong, so we left. Dad hated him at the end, but Rebecca hates him more.” Sarah never knew the context behind it, but she still _knew_ that. “A lot more.”

“Right,” Clem said. She looked dead ahead at the wall, a frown on her face, and the combination of things confirmed to Sarah that she was thinking. About what exactly, she didn’t know, but at least those pieces were put together.

“What do we do?” Sarah didn’t look up at Clementine as she said it, knowing that prolonged eye contact was the last thing she needed right now. “If...if he comes back…”

“I don’t think he will,” Clem murmured, but Sarah wasn’t entirely sure she was certain of her own words. “He has more people, right? Probably he left to get them.”

“A lot more,” Sarah agreed, a number of faces floating to the front of her memory. Some of Carver’s people - his most loyal - had been decent to all of them, but not all of them. The name _Troy_ came to mind, and with it a mental visual of a ratty, ill-tempered man in a camo jacket, and Sarah shoved both of those things aside at once. “I wish the others were here.”

“That makes two of us,” Clementine said. She turned her head, and Sarah could feel her gaze. “Are you feeling better?”

Sarah closed her eyes, issuing a little nod. “Mhm. I mean, I...I think so.”

“Want to go downstairs? I can keep an eye on the windows.”

“I…” She mustered another nod, raising her hand again to return her glasses to the bridge of her nose. “Yeah. Okay.”

Clementine got up, took a couple of steps forward, and put out her hand. It was an offer, as opposed to her first well-meaning attempt at comfort, and Sarah appreciated that in ways that would take her too long - and which would cost her emotional horsepower she currently didn’t have - to explain. Instead, she quietly took Clementine’s hand with her own and rose to her feet, feeling a distant surprise at how strong the younger girl was as she helped pull Sarah up.

The two left the room and returned downstairs, Sarah trailing behind Clementine on legs which felt halfway between numb and nonexistent, her arms tightened across her chest and her eyes fixated down on her boots. Once they were in the living room again, Sarah lowered herself onto the couch next to her father’s shirt, raising her eyes just long enough to watch Clementine down as she told Sarah she would, pacing from one window to the next, watching the surroundings outside the cabin walls. Not really processing her own movements, Sarah propped her elbows on her legs, clasped her hands tight, and rested her chin against them. Breathing came to her with effort and ache, but she shut her eyes and focused on it as she had upstairs, going through the rote pattern she had learned years before the world changed. It succeeded in driving some of the burning from Sarah’s chest, which was welcome, but came with the tradeoff of making the frantic dialogue of her thoughts all the clearer. As it so often happened to her, one solidified and crystallized at the forefront of Sarah’s mind. It was three words, simple and to the point.

_(you did this)_

Sarah swallowed. Without thinking, she moved her right hand to her hair, carding her fingers through it. Her eyes opened and fell upon the tan flannel shirt next to her; in any other circumstance, it would have been an object of comfort to her, but seeing it now reminded her more starkly than anything of how alone she and Clementine were. Of how Carver found them.

_(you did this)_

More than anything, though, the sight of the shirt made Sarah’s mind drift to the others. To her father and Rebecca, who had gone searching for Luke and Alvin in the woods. To Nick, who was still lost out there somewhere. To...

An image of Pete’s face, ever wise and friendly even to her own perception, came to Sarah’s mind, and she felt a pang somewhere deep behind her ribs as the reality of what Clementine told her settled in for keeps. She appreciated knowing, and understood that such things just _happened_ to good people in this new world, but it still hurt. Sarah liked everyone in their little group, but Pete had always been especially good to her. To everyone.

She couldn’t even begin to fathom how much it hurt Nick. Her mind tried to add a thought to that ( _if he’s still alive out there,_ it was), but Sarah actively swatted it away. Nick, she decided, was too fierce to meet such a fate himself. He was still out there, and her father would find him. Would find the others and come back, safe and sound, and they could move on before Carver returned with the rest of his people.

Provided, of course, that Carver hadn’t already found them.

_(you did this)_

Actively, right at the forefront of consciousness, Sarah thought, _Shut up. Shut up shut up just shut up. If he already had any of the others, he wouldn’t have left and you know it. That’s not how this works._

But there was just enough doubt to plague and haunt. Swallowing again, Sarah added, _Please be safe, Dad. Please. Por favor, esté seguro._

Just then, Clementine’s voice snapped Sarah out of her thoughts. “We need to find the others.”

Sarah blinked, hand paused in her hair, and looked up at the younger girl, suddenly aware that she had no earthly idea how long she had been sitting and Clem had been patrolling. Clementine had her eyes focused out the window nearest the entryway and not on Sarah herself, which suited her just fine at the moment. “What?”

Clementine nodded, not looking away. “We don’t know how long we have until he comes back with more, right? We need more people here.”

“We can’t just _leave,_ ” Sarah protested, alarmed. “He could still be out there, or--or there could be lurkers-”

Clementine turned her head, met Sarah’s eyes, and looked like she was about to reply, but the sound of the back door opening stopped her before she could. For half a second, Sarah braced herself for the worst and she saw Clementine stiffen in kind, but as their heads turned in unison toward the sound, Clem said, “Oh thank _God._ ”

It was good enough for Sarah. Burying the broken record of her thoughts, she shot to her feet, heart racing and mind daring to hope as she came to Clem’s side-

And saw Alvin, Rebecca, and Luke pile in through the door, one by one, with her father at their lead.

Sarah never fully recognized willing herself to move. All she knew was that she was in the living room at one instant and in the kitchen at the next, quite certain she had never moved so quickly in her life. She thought she didn’t so much hug her father as fling herself against him, but she was very, very far beyond caring. “ _Dad!_ ”

“Sarah,” her father responded, returning her embrace with what sounded, to Sarah’s ears at least, somewhere between concern and a sigh of relief. “Sarah, honey, what’s wrong? You look petrified.”

Sarah heard Clementine’s footsteps as her friend caught up with her. “Someone came to the cabin.”

“ _What?_ ” Sarah heard the perplexity in her father’s voice give way to alarm. It didn’t take much conversational awareness to hear the change.

“A man,” Clementine went on. “He came inside, and-”

“You just let him _in?_ ” Rebecca’s voice demanded, but Sarah couldn’t hear much of the characteristic sharp note she was used to lately. More than anything, Rebecca sounded... _terrified._ “You _opened the door_ for him?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sarah heard Clementine snap. “The front door was unlocked and he just came in!”

“She’s telling the truth,” Sarah murmured, breaking the embrace just enough to look her father in the eye. “I saw it. He walked right inside.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself for whatever came next. “It was Carver, Dad. It was h-him.”

Sarah felt her father tense, and the shift in the mood of the room was as immediate and palpable as she had been expecting. Sarah glanced away long enough to see Luke’s and Alvin’s faces shift and harden, but she saw no such thing on Rebecca’s face. There, she only saw a woman who had suddenly lost her color. Above her, her father said, “ _Madre de Dios._ ”

“It was only a matter of time,” Luke muttered. “We knew he wouldn’t just stop lookin’ for us.”

“He knows we’re here,” Sarah went on, the words spilling out before she could think them through. “He saw your shirt and, and a picture of me-”

“A picture?” her dad said, sounding alarmed, and Sarah felt an immediate pang of guilt and regret. Deep in her mind, three familiar words helpfully rose once more to the surface. “What were you doing taking pictures?”

“Don’t blame her,” Clementine cut in before Sarah could respond. “I took the picture.”

Almost too surprised by Clem’s interjection to muster the words, Sarah added, “I asked her to do it.”

Sarah’s father sighed. To her ears, his response sounded more exasperated than angry: “ _Sarah…_ ” He shook his head and looked aside at the others. “He was scouting for us. Clementine must have surprised him. But he’ll be back soon enough with the rest.”

“The man’s right,” Luke agreed, stepping forward. “We need to get movin’ and fast. Clem,” he swiveled his head to the younger girl, “you were with Nick, right? Think you can lead us back to him?”

Clementine nodded. “I think so.”

“Good,” Luke responded, looking back to Sarah’s father. “I think we can pick him up on the way out, then.”

Sarah’s father nodded, finally breaking their embrace. “Clementine will be safer with us, in any case,” he said. Letting out a long breath, Sarah dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, eyes on her hands in her lap as her dad continued. “Of course, the decision is hers, but given the circumstances…”

“I’ll stay,” Clem agreed. A part of her figured that would be the decision Clementine reached in the end, but hearing it nonetheless made a little bright ember cut through the anxiety Sarah felt in her chest.

“Good,” her father said. “Your help will be appreciated. In the meantime, we need to pack what we can and move out. If we head north into the mountains, we should at least be able to slow them down.”

“Works for me,” Luke said. “Let’s get on it, people.”

“Come on, Bec,” Alvin said, and Sarah looked up in time to see him put an arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. Sarah wasn’t sure if she looked more petrified than she did seething with some kind of wordless fury. “We need to get movin’.”

Silently, Rebecca nodded, and the two of them left the room. Luke followed. With them gone, Sarah heard her father mutter something under his breath and rake a hand up his face. “I don’t know what he told you, Clementine,” he said, his voice quiet and tired, “but William Carver is a dangerous man. A liar and a manipulator. I hate to have ever involved you in this.”

“If it isn’t one thing,” Clem said softly, “it’s another. Like you said, I’ll be safer with you.”

“Mm,” Sarah’s father murmured. “Fair enough.” He turned to her, then, and Sarah felt his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze as easily as she ever did. “Come on, sweetie. We need to get your things together.”

Sarah nodded, still feeling as though some part of her were still on a distant planet in the cosmos. “Okay,” she agreed, getting to her feet. Without prompting, Clementine took a step forward.

“I’ll help.”


End file.
